Slip Ups
by Aytheria
Summary: A collection of oneshots dealing with the aftermath of the Pevensies’ lives in Narnia [all 7 books]. After all, once a king or queen of Narnia, always a king or queen of Narnia. Little slipups here and there simply prove the Pevensies are...different...
1. Peter

**11/12/07: **_I'm sorry to anyone who thought this was a update, but I just thought I'd let you know that I really appreciate any grammar or spelling feed-back that you can give me. If you do I promise to correct it immediately, as I know how annoying bad grammar and spelling can be. Also, I don't have a beta, so it's practically a guarantee that you'll find mistakes. But let me know and I'll fix them, thanks! xox  
_

Slip-ups

_by Ria_

**Summary**: A collection of ones shots dealing with the aftermath of the Pevensies' lives in Narnia, including all seven books. After all, once a king or queen of Narnia, always a king or queen of Narnia. It is doubtful that one can live a life of a king or queen and then suddenly expect to be able to fit in perfectly with a life you'd long forgotten. And that's to be expected as well of the Pevensies. Because even occasionally Peter, or Susan, Edmund, or Lucy slip up and accidentally say or do things they shouldn't have and that perhaps leads to thoughts that the four siblings are not exactly who they seem to be...

**Or**: An excuse to do a bunch of one shots in the Narnia universe so that I can procrastinate during finals (or whatever I happen to be procrastinating on at the time).

**Disclaimer**: Don't own Narnia or any characters cept the one's you've never heard of before, blah blah blah...

**AN**: Alright, so I figured that I needed a break and I really wanted to work in the Narnia universe, especially after seeing that poster for Prince Caspian in the cinema the other day. It re-inspired me. I imagine this will be an on-going project that will continue so long as I have inspiration for one-shots...

Basically each chapter is from a different pov on one of the four Pevensie siblings. It takes place back in good old England, but will occasionally make references to books in the Narnia universe, so hopefully you've read them all...I'll probably go in order of sibling age, but maybe not, we'll see. I do know I'm starting off with Peter. Once I do a full circle I'll come back again and start over with a new set of one shots up until the very end (aka, Last Battle) and even beyond for Susan of course.

Hm, I guess you could call this a drabble of sorts then...I've always wanted to do one. Well, here's my chance. Hope you enjoy.

Oh, and I'm always open to suggestions. If anyone has any ideas that they'd like to see drop me a line in a review and I'll think about it :)

Alrighty! Here we go!

* * *

**Peter Pevensie, Boarding School, During Class:**

Peter wasn't entirely sure what made him do it. Only that his mind was still on recent events...namely Narnia and Caspian. After he and his siblings had first returned from Narnia it had taken a good deal of time before Peter had stopped waking up expecting to be in his chambers back at Cair Paravel. It also took a while before he stopped expecting to be obeyed at every word, to be treated like an equal, an adult, a _King_.

And then finally, _finally_ when everyone had begun to settle back into life as plain old English schoolchildren away for the holidays, they had been sucked back into the magical world of Narnia and their previous roles as Kings and Queens. That had been a few weeks ago, and Peter was only still regaining his equilibrium.

Then again, he supposed that given the nature of what had happened, he could hardly be expected to take it well, now could he?

After all, one doesn't spend half their life being someone like a _king_ and then turn around and suddenly become a child again. It was a strange experience and one Peter wasn't entirely sure he liked. He'd gotten used to being High King. He had liked his life, so had Susan, Edmund and Lucy. They had discussed it in length.

And now they had been ripped away from their existence. Adult minds in children's bodies.

So perhaps that was why he did it.

The professor was a bore, that much was obvious. It was also obvious how much he thought of himself by the manner in which he lectured his class. Normally the topic on which he was lecturing would have been of great interest to most of the boys in the room, but when the professor began to deviate from the historical aspect of the lecture and speculate as to how _he_, the professor, could have done it better, the boys' minds began to drift.

Current topic of discussion? Battle tactics.

Now Peter liked battle tactics. He liked it a lot because it was familiar. It gave him a sense of comfort to talk about battle and politics. After all, he was High King and quite good at it. (Peter conveniently forgot that he _had__ been_ High King and was currently no longer in such a position).

But even Professor Morten could take something as interesting as battle tactics and create a monster.

And honestly, Peter reflected as the professor droned on, the worst part was that Morten didn't even know what he was talking about. Oh sure he knew his history, but when he described how the historic battles could have been won better, Morten has no clue what he was talking about.

So Peter generally ignored him and stared out the window, as did most of the other boys in the class. Peter's new friend John had even taken to drawing ridiculous little caricatures of Morten as he lectured, making fun of the man. Yet, at the same time, Peter knew how hard it was to plan a good battle and come out the victor with minimal losses. So perhaps he couldn't fault the man for trying. He had never experienced the real thing, so Peter shouldn't be too harsh on him.

Snickers suddenly erupted throughout the class. Morten had just said something particularly foolish.

Peter briefly trained an ear on the conversation that was now escalating between Morten and an especially rambunctious boy by the name of Jack.

"Mr. Perry," Morten was spluttering, "I'd ask you to come up with something better but it is obvious from your lack of attention that you weren't paying attention to how one would go about organising a successful battle plan."

"Ha!" exclaimed Jack, "I bet I could single-handedly organise the best victory ever. I bet even Her Majesty's Generals would be impressed and recruit me immediately."

"Then why don't you show us right now? The battle we've just been discussing maybe? How might you have won it Mr. Perry?"

If Morten didn't know what he was talking about, then the boys in Peter's current class had little more clue than a baby. But again, Peter could not fault them for it. After all, to them, a battle was something fanciful. A vision of glory and heroism. They could never imagine it in its gruesome reality. Even with all the reports coming in about the condition of the battles being waged out on the front-lines in Europe and Russia or under the ocean in those new U-boats.

Jack had fallen silent and so had the rest of the class. Peter, caught up in memories, simply sighed slightly and gazed unseeingly out the window. This proved to be his undoing. He perhaps should have been paying better attention. If he had, when Morten dared anyone in the class to contradict him yet again, Peter was quite obviously not paying attention, thus Morten zeroed in on him like a moth to the flame.

"Mr. Pevensie!" He exclaimed, "Since you obviously don't need to pay attention in my class, care to come up here and demonstrate to us how this battle should have been fought?"

Peter jerked in his seat at the sound of his name and turned to face the class, still half immersed in his days of glory. The rest of the class was staring at him, the boys silent, and John was sending Peter sympathetic glances from his left.

Slowly Peter stood and mechanically said, "Yes sir."

Morten moved to the side as Peter walked to the front of the classroom and let Peter have full access to the large geographical map of Europe pinned to the wall over the chalkboard. It had markers in blue and red indicating the initial position of troops during some battle Peter couldn't name (since he hadn't been paying attention). All he knew was that it had been during World War I and so he had to take into account modern weapons and guerrilla war tactics instead of bows and arrows and magic.

"Wait, what are we? Which colour? Any special circumstances" He asked suddenly, feeling mildly foolish because he had never had to ask something like that before. He had _always_ known which troops were Narnian and which were not when he had planned battles before. Although none had been so great as the battle at the fords of Beruna.

Peter distantly heard the answer to his question, but he was already lost, remembering his very first battle. His mind began calculating the best geographical placements and deployment of troops. In his minds eye he could see the battle play out before him as modern weapons were brought to the fore and he adjusted his plans accordingly. Different scenarios flashed through his head, one after the other, like lightening. It didn't take him long. Generally, one didn't have long under the pressures of war.

Without even realising it, Peter addressed the class like he would his troops. He never noticed, but his shoulders were thrown back and his head held high. His voice had adopted a tone that spoke of authority - the type of tone that was generally obeyed. He had even pitched his voice to carry, as if he were addressing a great war room of people. It cut through the stunned silence and carried easily, filling the small confines of the classroom.

Even professor Morten nodded dumbly as Peter outlined and explained his plan in a straightforward and unarguable manner. Peter's words were bordering on formal, and he almost tried to include animal attacks, or employ fauns and centaurs. He caught himself at the last moment and switched these words with guns and trenches and bombs. They seemed foreign on his tongue, but a king was a king and no matter the circumstances, a king would lead his people to victory against any odds.

So his plan was brilliant. It shocked his classmates into silence and when Peter fell silent, finally emerging from the trance-like state he'd been swimming in, the class remained in shocked silence until he took his seat again.

Then, Morten cleared his throat and managed to say, "W-well, Mr. Pevensie, that was, uh, a brilliant example. Yes, very, thank you. Perhaps we should move on to other aspects of World War I such as the effect it had on..."

Peter once again tuned Morten out. He closed his eyes and tried to centre himself. That display had been foolish of him, but he had been caught up in the motions and feelings it had evoked, in the _memories_ it had evoked.

Silently avowing to be more careful and mentally chiding himself once more, Peter began to strategize just how he was going to unobtrusively avoid answering his peer's soon-to-be questions about his recent behaviour.

He imagined he was going to have a right time of it, pretending not to know how well he'd really addressed the issue or how he'd presented himself.

Ignorance is best, he decided, hunkering down slightly in his seat and pointedly ignoring John's wide-eyed questioning glances. Yes, ignorance is definitely best.

Peter still failed to realise just how much like a king he was still thinking. After all, most boys his age tended not to "strategize" against anyone, let alone try to turn away unwanted questions as to why he was so good at strategizing in the first place.

He could have simply said he'd read a lot of books on tactics over the holidays, but the thought never crossed Peter's mind.

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**AN:** Well, what did you think? Any good? Interesting? Did it make sense? Is it believable even? Please let me know and please review.

Seriously, I know how many hits my story gets and can compare it to the amount of reviews. If you honestly would like to see more, please, just even a tiny note saying "More please" would be really appreciated. Just so long as I know people want to read more. Otherwise I'll just keep my drabbles to myself and honestly, what good will they do collecting dust on my hard drive?

So Read and Review people!

Thanks!

xox Ria


	2. Edmund

**17/12/2007:**_Alright, this has been edited for age. Edmund is now eleven...I did some bad math the first time around and they all ended up one year younger than they were supposed to be. Sorry if anyone thought it was an update! _

**AN:** Well, I got a positive response for Peter's chapter, sooooo...I now present Edmund's chapter! Yay! And thank you sooo much for the reviews! Hugs all around.

Btw, it was pointed out to me by a reviewer that I might have sounded a bit demanding in my previous chapter when I asked for reviews and I just want to say if I offended anyone, I completely apologise! I didn't mean for it to sound that way, I was just a bit frustrated over the fact that on my last one shot I got half as many reviews as favourites and the hits were off the charts and I thought that if you fav the story you ought to at least review once! But anyway, I hope that you can all review this time, pretty please?

Alright, sooo, for those of you wondering about if any of this is taking place _before_ Prince Caspian, no, it isn't. None of this will ever take place before Prince Caspian because the time difference between the two books is too little. They go back to Narnia literally the minute they leave the Professor's house, so there's no time for them to interact with anyone other than themselves and the Professor, who already knows about Narnia and their adventures. So, it starts off after Prince Caspian and after Susan already had some trouble believing in Narnia, etc...

Hopefully that clears up a few questions!

Oh, and I obviously didn't decide to go in age order. oh well. I'm sure no one's overly worried...heh. But man, it's harder to write for younger children's povs, even if they're not REALLY children... meh, whatever, I tried and that's the important thing, right?

Alright, here we go.

Oh, btw, whether or not these situations would actually happen in school life back in the 40s is debatable, but for the sake of my story, we're going to pretend that these things can happen. Okay? Okay. good.

On with the show!

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**Edmund Pevensie, Somewhere-in-England, Walking:**

Edmund was cold.

Actually, he wasn't just cold, he was downright frozen. And all because he hadn't had the foresight to bring a cloak with him - wait, no, jacket - he hadn't had the foresight to bring a jacket with him. Shaking his head, Edmund tried to dispel certain traitorous thoughts; thoughts that he was better off not remembering.

Still...it was hard. It was so hard to forget almost fifteen years worth of memories...more memories than he'd lived as he was now at merely eleven years old.

And the way they treated him! As if he didn't understand them, as if he was merely some ignorant child who knew nothing of the world. He was 25 for goodness sakes!

Wait...no...he was eleven, yes, eleven. Every time he looked in a mirror Edmund was reminded again of the fact that to everyone but his siblings, he was indeed _eleven_.

It wasn't fair.

Edmund tried his hardest not to be spiteful or hurtful, but he wasn't like Peter. He couldn't accept what had happened so easily. Here, in wartime England he was merely a boy; a young, naive boy who held no more importance than any other young British lad. But in Narnia, oh sweet Narnia, he was a _King_! He was important, he was listened to, he was looked up to!

And now here he was trudging across the misty ground with the rest of his silly eleven year old class at the break of dawn, shivering and miserable.

It would be better if Lucy were here, he reflected bitterly. Or Peter, or even Susan, ridiculous as she was acting lately. But Peter was kept mostly separated from him by age and both Susan and Lucy were in some horrid all-girls boarding school. As it was, Edmund had no one to whom he could relate. He was alone. The minds of his classmates were simply too childish for him to get along with. He couldn't help it. Peter kept telling him to fit in, but Edmund just couldn't. He'd changed too much. He'd grown up; he'd seen things these boys would never see and done things these boys would never do. They were on a completely different level.

Not to mention Edmund was a _king_.

He remembered everything with such clarity, yet sometimes he found it hard to recall details from before - from when he was still living in England; from his true childhood. To Edmund, this was no longer his childhood.

He didn't tell Peter everything - only a little. He told him how he felt like he couldn't fit in any longer and how he felt too grown up, and Peter told him he'd get used to it and that for the sake of them all he should simply let go and try to live his life.

But really, Edmund couldn't give up Narnia yet. So he didn't tell Peter how he was _really_ feeling. It would only put pressure on his brother and cause him to worry. And they'd gone back once, who's to say they wouldn't again? Peter and Susan didn't seem to think so, but Edmund and Lucy had talked on their own, and neither was giving up hope.

His teeth chattered.

"By Aslan," he swore quietly at the weather. He honestly hadn't expected it to be this cold so early in the year, despite how early in the morning it was.

A young boy next to him turned to look at him and asked, "Didja say s'mthin'?"

Edmund blinked at the boy's heavy accent and ignored him, mentally scowling at his inability to properly enunciate.

The boy continued on, oblivious, "This's excitin' don't ja think? It'll be like 'em knights."

And that brought Edmund's mind back round to the reason _why_ he was outside at such an ungodly hour of the morning, tramping across the dewy grass towards the steadily growing smell of straw and horse droppings.

Which, he decided as they got closer and closer, wasn't so bad...it was just the stupid cold. And the masks. Whoever decided that they all needed to have gas masks wherever they went (even in the middle of nowhere) was a right idiot in Edmund's opinion. Thus the professors had all decided that each boy would carry their own mask; to build a sense of responsibility, they said. Edmund thought it was ridiculous, but didn't say so out loud.

Soon, they were in sight of the stables and paddock and Edmund felt the beginnings of a smile. He loved horses and he loved riding. It had been a hobby of his in Narnia, and seeing the horses before him brought back such fond memories of his riding days that it was all Edmund could do not to immediately jump onto the nearest horse and gallop away into the distance.

Perhaps he was being a tad melodramatic, but the swell of anticipation was steadily building and Edmund felt jittery. Impatiently, he waited as the professor responsible for this excursion called for order among the excited jabbering of eleven year old boys.

Five minutes later Edmund was still waiting as the man (a professor Caulworth) continued to outline the proper safety procedures when dealing with horses, not to mention a few pointers about riding the horses. Edmund thought he could give the man a few pointers himself. After all, he was an expert horseman.

Finally, they were led into the stables to be shown the proper way to saddle a horse. Edmund stood at the back as the rest of the boys crowded forward eagerly, instead choosing to take stock of the horse. It was an old thing, clearly weary and with hardly any spirit left at all. It was the perfect animal for a stream of excited little boys to ride on. For Edmund, it was an extreme disappointment. He surreptitiously edged away from his classmates and further into the stables, peering over each stall door and into the gloom beyond. This somewhat irked him, as most things tended to do these days, because he remembered being much taller than he was now, and it was quite unfair to have to peer up rather than down.

At least he had the small comfort that he would grow to be taller and, if he did say so himself, quite handsome.

As Edmund progressed down the aisle he looked each horse over with a critical eye. Some stalls were empty, but most were filled with mediocre animals - the type of horses one might use for training or practise for younger adolescents. But none were quite up to Edmund's usual standards.

Then he reached the far back.

Edmund wouldn't have said the horse was beautiful. He was nothing like Edmund's own personal steed, his beloved companion whom he had left behind in Narnia such a short time ago (at least it seemed so to Edmund). Still - he let his eyes rove over the dappled flank and the wary eyes - the horse was of a decent breed. He was by far the best horse in the entire stable - and probably the most temperamental too, if the way the horse pawed at the ground and snorted when Edmund moved up close to the door, was any indication.

Edmund barely realised he'd dropped his gas mask on the straw covered ground as he stared the horse in the eye. It had turned its head to look at him and he held its gaze confidently. Then he held out his hand and clicked his tongue in the way he knew most horses responded to if they were properly trained (of course, if they were talking horses, then that was another matter entirely). Sure enough, the horse stuck it's head over the stall door and sniffed at Edmund's flat palm.

"My apologies," he told it, half expecting it to speak back to him, "I have no apple."

The horse snorted and nipped at his skin. Edmund held his hand steady and didn't flinch at the brief pressure.

And just like that he was back in the royal stables at Cair Paravel, inspecting a new steed and giving his approval. Without thinking of the consequences, both that he could get in trouble and that he was only eleven, Edmund reached for the bridle and, tugging the horse's head down slightly to reach, slipped it over its head and deftly fastened it. Clipping the lead on in a similar fashion, Edmund unlatched the door and let it swing open, standing to the side and letting the horse take a dainty step forward.

Still caught up in memories, Edmund lead the horse out of his stall and lined him up sideways, facing the wall and clipping the lead into a conveniently placed metal ring designed for that purpose. On the wall in front of them both hung the saddle. Edmund didn't think twice, he immediately reached for the hard leather and set to work.

The shout came when he'd finished saddling the horse and was doing a secondary inspection. Edmund blinked and felt a rush of guilt as he realised what he'd done and where he was. Turning, he observed the angry men heading his way and the gaggle of students behind them.

"Mr. Pevensie!" Exclaimed Professor Caulworth, completely aghast.

"What do you think you're doing boy?" said the stable owner at the same time, a tall man with thinning hair and a heavy moustache. He was eyeing Edmund like he didn't know quite what to think of an eleven year old boy saddling up his best mount.

"My apologies," Edmund uttered stoically, internally wincing, "I forgot myself." He turned to address the owner, reminding himself to be diplomatic. "You had such a fine mount that I couldn't help myself." Perhaps too much flattery, then again, perhaps not.

The stable man stared for a moment and then muttered, "Precocious child isn't he?"

"Quite," agreed Edmund's teacher dryly.

Edmund almost let out an indignant "hey!" but stifled the impulse as being entirely too childish. Instead, he reached out to stroke a hand down the horse's side. It snorted and shuddered.

"Now then," said the stable man, "You're only eleven, you really shouldn't be doing this, you could get hurt."

"Don't worry," Edmund told him, "I know what I'm doing."

Professor Caulworth spluttered.

The stable man raised an eyebrow and stepped forward to place a hand on the saddled back of his horse. "Is that so?"

"You never said you could ride Edmund!" exclaimed one of his classmates. Muttering broke out and the boys began quietly exclaiming. Apparently at least part of Professor Caulworth's previous lecture about being quiet had sunk in.

"You never asked," replied Edmund.

"Well, Edmund, I believe you owe Mr. Brooks an apology," Professor Caulworth informed him.

"Actually," interrupted said Mr. Brooks before Edmund could so much as open his mouth, "the boy's done a completely professional job of preparing my Archer."

Archer was an interesting name, Edmund reflected.

"Really?" asked Caulworth, clearly astonished.

"Yes, he has, and not to mention Archer here is a bit temperamental if you don't know how to properly handle him. I doubt anyone but myself or someone very intimate with horses would have been able to do what this young boy did without getting hurt."

Silently, Edmund grumbled to himself as the two "adults" talked over his head. Oh how he wished he was back where he belonged, home, in Narnia. Although to be frank, Edmund thought Mr. Brooks was exaggerating slightly about his horse.

"Hey there boy, Edmund is it? I'd like to see how you ride. You're only eleven, but you've got me interested."

Edmund's heart leapt and he stepped forward eagerly.

"Now wait a minute," said Caulworth, "I don't think that's such a good idea. Like you said, he _is_ eleven."

"And he has better horse sense than adults twice his age," replied Mr. Brooks.

Edmund silently commended the man.

Stepping around Brooks, he unhooked the horse's - Archer's - lead and began to tug the beast in a circle to get him facing the right way. Mr. Brooks stepped back and was already herding Edmund's classmates out the door, past the poor excuse of a steed at the entrance, and out into the chilly morning. Both of them completely ignored Caulworth's protests.

Feeling his giddiness return, Edmund continued down the aisle, Archer plodding along behind him. He thought the horse was feeling excited too, because when Edmund walked faster, he felt no tightness on the lead as Archer sped up to match his pace.

Edmund stepped out into the early morning sunshine and took a deep breath of the crisp air. He wasn't cold any longer, now he was simply excited, and the cold and the dew reminded him of his own early morning rides that he used to go on when he woke up early.

"Ho boy!" Mr. Brooks exclaimed behind him before Edmund could finish unclipping the lead. "Don't forget your hat."

Edmund stared. His hat? He looked at the hard black riding helmet and wondered if the man was serious.

"No thanks," he told him, "I don't wear one."

Mr. Brooks was shocked. "Don't wear one? But that's unsafe!"

But Edmund was no longer listening. He was off in another time and another place. He remembered his first horse ride when he and Peter had been training for the battle against the White Witch. He had been the same age and height then as he was now. Remembering what it felt like to ride as someone young, Edmund set his foot in the stirrups and effortlessly mounted.

"Wait!" He heard someone distantly call.

Gathering the reins in both hands, he felt his fingers curl into the appropriate positions just like they always did and his feet automatically adjusted themselves to grip the stirrups. His back straightened and his head was held high as he peered out across the green expanse of Mr. Brooks' field - except it was no longer Mr. Brooks' field, it was Narnia and he was King Edmund the Just. His feet dug into Archer's flanks and suddenly they were off, the horse immediately breaking out first into a trot, then a canter.

And then there was a fence - what was a fence doing in Narnia? No matter. Edmund shifted his weight appropriately, the motion one of ingrained practise. His feet dug into the horse's side and his hands tightened on the reins...and they were up and over, landing with a thud and continuing on; a perfectly executed jump.

Distantly, in his mind's eye Edmund could hear three more horses thudding along with him and his sibling's jubilant cries as they raced along behind him, calling his name.

Faster, he thought. And they were going faster. The horse broke into a gallop, but Edmund kept his seat, leaning over slightly.

He didn't know how long he raced, stuck in memories that were part of his past, but eventually he came out of his stupor when he realised he'd done a full circle and was approaching the fence again at a mild canter. Archer's sides were heaving with the exercise and Edmund hoped he hadn't been running for too long, lest he tire the horse out.

Archer's muscle's bunched, Edmund tensed, and they were up and over the fence once again and slowing to a trot. Then, from a trot to a walk, and finally Edmund guided Archer to a stop in front of his gaping class.

Mournfully, he dismounted in one fluid motion, shoes thudding into the moist dirt. He realised he was breathing rather heavily. Slowly, he ran a hand over Archer's side and walked around to face the horse, hand still trailing in the course hair.

Archer lowered his head and whinnied into Edmund's hair. And just that simple act - for it reminded Edmund of his current height - brought Edmund truly crashing back into reality. Once again he was just eleven-year-old Edmund back in England, his siblings nowhere to be found. Archer nudged his head again and he reached up and grasped the horse's head between his hands, stroking the sides of its face. Quietly, he pressed his forehead softly against the length of its nose and mourned the loss of who he had been.

* * *

**AN:** Oooookay, bit angsty...hm, didn't intend it to come out _quite_like that. I think it sort of wrote itself. I guess I was thinking about how Edmund felt like everyone was against him at first and how he'd feel after everything that he'd grown to love was snatched away from him. I'd be feeling kinda angsty too. I dunno, it sorta fit into Edmund's character in my mind, being reminded of something he could never have again. 

Also, for any horse enthusiasts out there, if I made any mistakes, my apologies. I'm claiming artistic license. However, if you see something that could be corrected without overly affecting the plot, then please tell me and I can make adjustments to make the scene fit better with reality.

Reviews: Thanks soooo much to: **imakeladrygirl**,**lareine**,**Chocolatecoveredespressobean**,**elecktrum**,**Smart Alex**,**LittleOtter**,**fledge**,**Lirenel**,**Cirolane**,**Tamm**,**FireSenshi2**,**Augrey07**,**anyabar1987**,**Val Evenstar**, and **Ellen** for the reviews!! Seriously, thank you! 15 reviews is far more than I expected:3

Well, comments? criticism? Too angsty? Not in character? Really, anything would be nice. Just let me know!

Thanks!

xox Ria


	3. Susan

_19/1/08: Finally edited. Corrected the 3 mistakes pointed out to me in reviews. Thanks a lot that you read it well enough to catch those! (I admit spelling is NOT my forte...I rely too much on spell check, but that one grammar one...tsk tsk, bad Ria!) But thanks:)_**  
**

**AN:** Oh wow! I got so many reviews! Thank you so much! T.T I'm so happy!

Although, I do apologize for the delay in getting this chapter out. First of all, Susan is a pain to write. But I tried. Second of all, I've been SOOOO busy.

My excuses: Uni exams, The Flight From Hell (yes, capital letters means it was THE flight from hell...don't even get me started on the stupid holiday rush and !!£(&& airports...ahem...), Christmas! and New Years. Not to mention I hadn't seen my friends in 3 months so I had to go see them ALL and that takes TIME. Anyway, I leave day after tomorrow for 2 days of travelling, but I figured I'd try to get this chapter out first so you guys don't have to wait any longer. :) I'm so nice, I know.

Right. Well, besides from a few...mistakes, shall we say, Edmund's chapter went well, so...without further ado, I bring you Susan!

So let's see how well I did, shall we? XP

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**Susan Pevensie, Boarding School, Ballroom, during class:**

Susan was in love.

No, that was wrong, she was in-like. She liked Mr. Trébour, because in her opinion he was very handsome. And yet, when he looked at her all he saw was a silly little girl, not yet a teenager and hardly suitable for the likes of a man in his mid twenties. But, Susan fancied him very much, because when Susan looked at him, she saw him how a woman would see a man, not as a girl. And it was ever so frustrating to stand here like this and not be acknowledged! Why, if she had been back in Narnia, she would have had Mr. Trébour begging at her feet or gifting her with beautiful jewels!

And now, she was thirteen once more and had to grow up all over again. It was the single most frustrating thing Susan had ever experienced in her life! Even more frustrating than the time when that awful Prince Rabadash had tried to get her to marry him, and they had had to steal away during the night. At least that had been exciting! And she had been Queen then too. Queen Susan the Gentle, renown for her great beauty and kindness.

Susan desperately wanted to be that woman again. She would give anything to be that woman again - to not have to grow up all over again and experience the pains that came with adolescence.

Susan remembered how she'd already messed up. When they'd gone back to help Caspian, Susan knew it was her fault that they had almost died. And it was all because she'd been put back in this childish body, she knew. In fact, she was certain of it. Only a thirteen year old would have made those mistakes. Queen Susan never would have, but young schoolgirl Susan most certainly did. And it hurt to have betrayed her country like that - and Aslan. Oh how disappointed Aslan had been.

Susan cringed.

She hated disappointing people - especially those she cared about - and that was why she had to become her former self as soon as possible, so she could gain respect and recognition. So she wouldn't make childish mistakes and disappoint her family and her country (to Susan, England was no longer her true country, instead, Narnia had replaced itself in her heart).

As she watched with simmering jealousy, Mr. Trébour's partner - some plain woman named Marie - came into the room, and Susan told herself that this time she wouldn't beat around the bush. This time she would grow up like the other girls, but always be one step ahead. It would be _her_, not her friend who would show the other girls how to do things, and it would be _her_ leading them through their awkward adolescence. She would be the leader of the pack, the one everyone turned to for advice and the one everyone looked up to. She would establish her place in the social hierarchy...they closest thing she could get to being _Queen_.

"We will now demonstrate one of the many dances you will soon be learning," Mr. Trébour announced to his eager class of young girls.

Susan perked up slightly. She had opted to come to this class, which was mostly meant for older girls, because if there was one thing she could improve upon immediately it would have to be her dancing.

Susan knew that as Queen she had been the most graceful and beautiful woman in Narnia. Even Lucy had admitted that Susan far outclassed her in looks. Through these lessons Susan hoped to gain back part of the grace and poise she had seemingly lost.

"Wow, they're so beautiful!" One of the other girls sighed.

Susan eyed the dancing couple and knew that _she_ could do better.

"And Marie! So pretty!"

No, it was Susan who was the beautiful one, not Marie.

Trébour and Marie finished their dance to the excited clapping and sighing of the room. Susan smiled to herself. She knew a Narnian variation of that dance, it would be easy enough to adjust slightly.

Sighing, she thought of all the balls she was missing. Right now she could be hosting foreign royalty, or riding across a meadow, or ordering work on part of the castle grounds. In fact, she would be walking down a lightly lit stone corridor lined with beautiful tapestries and wall sconces, and somehow Lucy would catch her by surprise by popping out of a well-hidden doorway. She would gasp and scold her sister for acting inappropriately, but she would be smiling too and laughing on the inside. Lucy would smile impishly and link arms with her, walking with her to help her check on the orchard work. They would be talking about the recent news from Archenland and speculating about -

"Miss Pevensie? Are you there?"

Susan blinked and stepped back slightly, reaching up to adjust her crown in order to hide her surprise...but wait, there was no crown. That was odd.

"If you would line up? Unless you think you know this dance already? If that is the case you may go if you wish, or perhaps show us a demonstration?" Clearly, Mr. Trébour did not expect her to know any dances. He obviously wished to make her contrite for not paying attention.

"Yes, of course I know this dance," said Susan, smiling diplomatically and not letting any hint of her ire show through her serenely smiling face.

"Is that so Miss Pevensie?" asked Mr. Trébour skeptically and somewhat surprised.

"But of course sir," she replied.

There was a hush of whispers from the girls that Susan only now realized were lined up in the middle of the room.

"Then would you be so kind as to grace us with a demonstration?"

Susan didn't think Mr. Trébour had been expecting her to take him up on the offer, so when she held out her hand for him to grip, it took him a few seconds before he reached out to grasp it lightly. She would have to compensate for the height difference, Susan reflected absently as she was led to the center of the floor, the other girls having cleared to the side to watch in avid interest. And she would have to adjust the dance to British standards as well, though she had no doubt Mr. Trébour was good enough to adjust to her own style as well.

Trébour's arm went to her waist and the other grasped her hand delicately. Her left hand then went to his shoulder. Automatically her posture adjusted itself as her body recognised the beginnings of a dance that was almost second nature. Her head tilted slightly to assume the correct position and they were ready.

"Marie?" came the soft spoken request.

And then, there was music.

It filled the room and Susan's senses. She closed her eyes and smiled slightly.

"If you are ready Ms. Pevensie?" asked Mr. Trébour.

Susan opened her eyes and nodded her head slightly, then let it fall back into position.

Mr. Trébour began to move. He guided her across the dance floor, step by step, twirl by twirl.

At first Susan managed to keep up with him. She closed her eyes again and imagined she was back at Cair Paravel. It helped her to dance in a foreign environment to pretend she was somewhere else. But the memories were so fresh and lucid that soon she was completely immersed in them, and could almost feel the reassuring weight of her crown on her head and the whispering folds of her gown as it moved with the dance.

But...something was wrong. The dance was strange. She wasn't doing something right and it felt off. Without thinking, Susan adjusted herself and felt pleased. She had corrected her mistake. Or, perhaps it hadn't been her mistake, but her partner's, because she felt him stumble slightly and try to compensate for her shift. Yes, it had been her partner's. He hadn't known the dance as well as she.

No matter, she smiled to herself, he would soon catch on.

And he did, and the dance was beautiful. They swept across the wide floor, almost floating above the polished wood. Susan's eyes were open but distant, caught up in her own imagination and memories of a time not so long ago. To Susan they weren't in a large dance studio, but a wide marble ballroom with draping flags and banners, and multiple couples on the floor. In the ballroom at Cair Paravel, there would be the dais to the back of the hall with four gild covered thrones, one for each sibling. No doubt Peter would be reclining in his own, and Lucy would be sitting in Susan's making conversation. Edmund would be by the large banquet tables set up for the guests, eating and chatting with foreign dignitaries. And of course Susan was dancing, it was something she always did. She would take turns, gracing each man with her hand, and stealing a few dances with her brothers. They would cycle through all the waltzes and maybe have a few quicksteps. Lucy would always join in on those. She always liked to joke that she was about as graceful as a giant, but could quickstep like the rest of them. Her sister's jubilant nature always allowed her to make light of things and always be optimistic, a trait Susan sometimes wished she shared.

The waltz continued.

Suddenly the music stopped and the dance ended. Automatically, Susan sunk into a curtsy, wondering why her dress didn't spread like it should. She waited for the man to bow and compliment her Majesty, but he never did.

Blinking, Susan looked up at an astonished Mr. Trébour and realised with sinking disappointment that she was really just plain Susan and not Queen Susan. There would be no "your Majesty's" ever again.

"Miss Pevensie, what...?" Mr. Trébour seemed at a loss for words.

Susan straightened from her curtsy and watched his expressions as they flitted across his face at lightning speed.

"What," he tried again, "was that?"

"The Dryad's Waltz," Susan responded immediately without thinking about how silly it might have sounded to someone not from Narnia.

"The what?"

"Uh, never mind," Susan hastily said, blushing mildly at her mistake.

Turning quickly, she walked towards the group of girls waiting to the side and took up a position among them. Instead, they all made a bubble around her and watched her with wide-eyed gazes of jealousy or admiration and no small amount of wonder. Susan felt slightly ostracized.

But wait, she scolded herself, isn't this what you wanted?

Uncomfortably, she wondered if it really was. Annoyed at her uncertainty, Susan shoved those thoughts to the side and lifted her head up high, ignoring the other girls' looks.

If she wanted to grow up, then she'd best start now so there was no room for uncertainties. Nodding to herself, Susan readied herself for the upcoming battle.

* * *

**AN:** Well, what do you think? Did I do a good job with Susan? I figured dancing was something she would have been good at and also something that she easily could have done at school. Ballroom dancing lessons are never wrong for any time period I should think. But did I personify her like the way she was portrayed by Lewis??? I hopes so! Please let me know! thanks! 

Anyway, I know it wasn't as long as it could have been. But, it _is_ only a drabble after all. A simple one-shot. Actually, I think my next one, which is Lucy and the one after that, which will be a sort of interlude between sets of four (an idea by **FireSenshi2**, so thanks for that :D) will be rather short. Or maybe the interlude will be long...a pov for each drabble? hmmmmmm...

But in any case, you can all look forward to a nice loooooonnnggg one shot in chapters 6 and 7.

Ok, well, comments, criticisms? Any discrepancies you can point out? grammar? Once again, I've got no beta and I generally don't need one, but small things might still escape me! So don't hesitate to help me out. Thanks!

xox Ria

P.S. Thanks to **Lirenel**,**lareine**,**elecktrum**,**figlia del Dio**,**Tamm**,**MidnightWaterLily**,**Narnian Lily**,**Miniver**,**floppyearsthebunny**,**spectacularspectacular**,**anyabar1987, LittleOtter**, **Val Evenstar**, **FireSenshi2**,**PrettyPrincessRen**,**lightsabermaster**,**AmySerenityRaye**,**Chcolatecoveredespresobean**,**fledge**,**JediMan**,**killng u with umbrellas**,**WickedWitchoftheSE**,**Augrey07**,**my sister who I forced to review (you better review this one too or ELSE) aka FalconMistress17**,**sunshine88**,**Slightly Soiled**,**pisiform**, annnnddd **Greyhound Master!**

Thank you so so much for reviewing! It really made my day! Also, to those of you who were kind enough to mention faults or point out observations or possible mistakes, I'd like you to know that I read every single one of them and took everything into account...I even went back and made a few changes as some of you might have noticed! But honestly, 28 reviews?????? T.T Ish so happy...

Also, to anyone who reviewed chapter one after I'd posted chapter 2, thank you as well :)

Ok, now I'm done. Review?


	4. Lucy

AN: I apologise for the long wait. I had exams. I STILL have exams actually. Two of them. But I got so sick of studying that I decided to finish this up and post it. Besides, I figured I owed it to everyone.

Hope you enjoy. :)

* * *

**Lucy Pevensie, Boarding School, Courtyard, during break:**

Lucy Pevensie watched with no small amount of trepidation as her classmate Melinda reached for the first branch of the tree.

_This is a bad idea_, she thought to herself. Any previous voicing of this had been quickly overruled and Lucy had been claimed 'no fun,' so all she could do was watch. _Someone's going to get hurt, I know it_.

But still, being called 'no fun' wasn't fair. Lucy liked to have fun, but she also had a sense of self preservation that these nine year old girls did not. She supposed that growing up once had already matured her mind so much that she could no longer see things from the point of view of a child. But still, it wasn't so bad. She had another chance to grow up, to have fun all over again. Though, at the same time it was so disappointing. She missed all her friends.

_Mr. Tumnus..._

Oh, how she dearly missed her beloved Tumnus. He had been her closest friend. And not to leave out the Beavers or any number of the creatures she had ruled over as Queen. And Aslan. She missed Aslan too, with his powerful presence and kind demeanour.

Not to mention all her new friends. Like Caspian. Dear Prince Caspian. She was ever so glad they could help him. She felt better knowing that Narnia had the likes of Caspian to watch over it now. But to think of the state it had been before!

Sometimes Lucy couldn't help but think it was their fault, for having left. Sometimes she just felt so guilty about leaving her kingdom, her_home_, behind, that it brought tears to her eyes. She had always been a caring soul, but for once Lucy wished she could be more like Peter. Peter was able to take things in stride and make the most out of what he had with no regrets. Unlike her, or Edmund. Edmund was having a hard time of it, she knew. And Susan...Lucy just couldn't understand her sister anymore. But she knew Susan missed Narnia. How could she not? After all, it had been her home for more than half her life!

But though she was not bitter like Edmund, or withdrawn like Susan, Lucy still could not hide the longing and (sometimes) sorrow she felt for Narnia.

Fifteen years. Fifteen years was such a long time.

But now the clocks had turned back, and she had fifteen years extra with all the memories of before. So she couldn't help but be excited, if not somewhat sad.

Still...wrenching her mind back to the present, Lucy watched Melinda try to drag herself up the tree.

"Really," she tried again, "It's not safe. Someone's going to get hurt." Honestly, whose silly idea was this in the first place?

"You're suck a stick in the mud Lucy. You didn't used to be like this. I bet you're just jealous cause you can't climb trees like me." Melinda had paused in her tree climbing to look back over her shoulder at the crowd of girls - more specifically, Lucy.

"I am not jealous," Lucy responded. And to be frank, Melinda's tree climbing skills left much to be desired. Lucy herself would have been up that tree and down by now. But she didn't say this, instead she said, "Besides, what would the Headmistress say if she saw you? This is hardly proper for young ladies."

"That's the point," said someone.

Lucy felt she was being slightly hypocritical (after all, let's not mention all the thing's _she'd_ been getting up to throughout the years), but she hardened her resolve and tried to argue back.

"You know what?" said Melinda after a while, still hanging in the same place, "I bet you couldn't climb this tree if you tried, Lucy Pevensie. You'd be too afraid of getting hurt or messing up your frock!"

Lucy felt a spark of anger, and tried to squash it, telling herself to be mature and not let little girls rile her up.

But the other girls started chorusing their agreements, chiding her and giggling at her supposed cowardice.

Lucy felt an eyebrow twitch.

"Oh for Aslan's sake!" she finally exclaimed, telling herself that since she was nine again, she could let loose a little and it would be okay.

The other girls stared at her strangely as she rolled up her sleeves. Lucy realised she'd probably said something strange from their point of view, as no one in England knew who Aslan was. Oh well.

"Excuse me Melinda," said Lucy, and took a running start.

She'd had much practise of the physical kind as Queen in Narnia. She'd learnt how to swim, sail ships, ride horses, fence, dance, and explore the outdoors. She'd especially had fun with the dryads on several occasions and had played games of hide and seek with them. Lucy had eventually become quite the little monkey in trees, and felt very confident that she could get up this one no problem, even if the first branch was high off the ground and only reachable by jumping.

With that in mind, she ran up to the trunk and jumped, giving herself momentum. Her hands shot out and grasped the first branch, and, using her feet, she climbed up the trunk and swung her legs over the first branch in a matter of seconds. Then, quickly, she reached for the next, and after that it was a matter of stepping up from one to the next. Soon she was high at the top, legs swinging over the air as she sat on the strongest branch. Looking down, she half expected to see scampering dryads pointing up at her and giggling as they danced and played.

Instead she saw the gaping expressions of several nine year old girls.

"I-I can do that too!" Melinda was still in the same place as before, but she was soon straining her arms and struggling over the first branch with much less grace than Lucy. Her hair was mussed and she was panting. She looked like quite a sight. Lucy absently checked her own hair and found it to be mostly all right, just a little ruffled.

Then, Melinda began her slow ascent up wards. She reached gingerly for each branch and clutched them like a life line as she hauled herself towards where Lucy was sitting. Lucy watched her white face as it moved closer and bit her lip. She could just see Melinda loosing her grip and falling.

Somehow, some higher being must have read her mind, because in the next few seconds it happened. Like slow motion, Lucy could see what was about to happen just before it did, but was helpless to stop it. She shouted a "Watch out!" but it was too late. Melinda's shoe slipped and her grip went slack as she scraped her knee on the branch and went to hold her leg. The next second she was tumbling out of the tree and had landed with a sickening thump on the leaf-littered ground.

She screamed.

The girls screamed.

There was mass panic.

Lucy stared at the chaos from her perch in the tree as girls burst into tears, others ran to Melinda, and Melinda herself wailed fit to rouse a hibernating bear. Suddenly, she noticed some of the less hysterical girls about to try and help Melinda up and she shouted a warning.

"No! Don't touch her!"

She punctuated this exclamation by slipping from her seat and swinging down from the tree smoothly, landing in a crouch (she'd jumped greater distances before).

A few girls stopped crying to gape at her.

Lucy quickly ran to Melinda and shooed the other girls away.

"Don't touch her, she could have broken something. You don't want to aggravate a broken bone, or a fracture."

"Wh-what?" sniffled one girl.

Lucy hushed her. Then she began to give orders, slipping into the role of the responsible queen quicker than she would have thought.

"You there, go get the nurse. And you, get the Headmistress or a professor. Whichever comes first." Lucy shooed away two of the girls who weren't crying and turned to another. "And you, go get some ice, just in case."

Everyone followed her orders without protest, too shocked to do otherwise, and automatically responding to Lucy's authoritative tone of voice and clear expectancy to be obeyed.

"Ow ow ow! It hurts!" Melinda was clutching her leg near the ankle, big fat tears still trekking their way down her cheeks.

"Don't move it!" Lucy snapped sharply.

Actually, Lucy was feeling a fair sense of deja vu. This was almost the exact same situation as that time when Ed had been bucked off a young stallion he had been breaking in. Lucy had come to watch and she had had to order the servants to go fetch a doctor and supplies. In her opinion, Edmund had been foolish to try riding a non-talking horse in the first place. But one so young and not yet trained had been even more foolhardy. But, it had been a gift from Calormen, so Edmund had felt obligated (and in Lucy's opinion he already had a slight obsession with horses anyway).

She remembered kneeling just like she was now, next to a nineteen year old Edmund and scolding him loudly for being so irresponsible. Then she had made him sit still and let her check him. After all, all those practises with the doctors had to be put to use somehow.

"Ow, Lu, stop it, it hurts!" Ed had cried while batting at her hands and trying to scoot away simultaneously.

"Sit_still_ Ed! You think just because I'm not the doctor, you don't have to listen? Well you do. Now hush!" Lucy had smacked him lightly on the back of the head where she knew he wasn't hurt and he had stopped trying to escape. Then she had reached for his leg and begun to check lightly with her hands.

Remembering all her lessons from a while ago, Lucy did almost the exact same thing this time around and reached for Melinda's leg. They were even sitting the same way - hunched over and clutching at their limbs. In Lucy's mind, she could almost superimpose the images and imagine she was back in the Narnian stables with Edmund.

"Hold still," she murmured as she prodded around, searching for the tell-tell feel of a break.

Melinda drew in a sharp breath and cried out, just like Edmund had done, when Lucy hit a certain spot.

_Almost the same place_, she thought whimsically.

Prodding just a bit more, Lucy sat back, satisfied she knew what was wrong. Melinda's face was white with the pain, but she had stopped crying, now only sniffling occasionally. Perhaps she was in shock?

Where was that doctor? Hadn't she called for him ages ago?

"Honestly," she said without thinking, "how long does it take for that elf to get here? Surely not this long!"

"What?" said someone, clearly confused.

Lucy quickly shut her mouth and flushed. How silly she'd just been! Of course there was no elfin doctor here in England, especially not dear Mr. Porifius.

Suddenly there was shouts as the girls Lucy had sent off returned with help.

The school nurse came first, her footsteps hurried, and the Headmistress and two school teachers came second.

"What on earth is going on?" cried the Nurse, eyes sweeping over the scene quickly, before focusing on Lucy and Melinda.

Lucy stood up and brushed off her skirt.

"Melinda fell off the tree. I believe she has a mild break, possibly only fracture, just above her left ankle. I check around the hurt area and there's some mild swelling, so some ice would be prudent. I advise getting a stretcher because she certainly can't walk at the moment. It's also possible that she sprained her wrist as well, as I noticed she's using her left hand a bit awkwardly." Lucy glanced down at Melinda's left wrist which she was, indeed, holding strangely. Lucy was glad it had just occurred to her that other parts of Melinda might be hurt, and that the awkward wrist had come to mind. "Oh, and I believe she is in shock. You might need to bring her out of it. I believe that is all. Feel free to verify my claims." Lucy finished off her dialogue with a regal nod of the head, hardly realising what she was doing and that it might seem strange to an adult for a nine year old child to be acting, speaking, and doing things the way she was. Or that she even had any medical knowledge in the first place.

In fact, all three adults were staring at her with a mixture of astonishment and uncertainty, clearly not knowing what to think.

_Oh dear,_ though Lucy, _I've messed up._

"Ms. Pevensie..." The Headmistress trailed off, not knowing what to say.

"Someone please get a stretcher then," the Nurse said faintly. One of the teachers nodded and headed back towards the school. "And we'll need to do an x-ray in town I think, just to be sure." She shot a side-ways glance at Lucy, as if not quite believing that a nine year old girl could be right.

"Certainly," Lucy responded, belatedly realising that she hadn't been addressed, nor was she being asked for permission in a roundabout way; which is what would have happened were she Queen and the nurse one of her subjects.

Deciding it was best to remove herself from the situation before things got even more sticky, Lucy politely excused herself and turned to walk away before anyone could object.

Behind her she heard the Headmistress ask, "How did this happen? A-and what did Ms. Pevensie _do_?"

And for an instant Lucy felt a flash of resentment at the woman's sceptical and amazed tone, wishing that she could be back where she belonged where no one would question her and there would be no need to act and pretend.

Because pretending was lying after all, and Lucy was not in the habit of lying.

* * *

AN: Well, what do you think? Did I do a good job? Did I keep her in character? I hope so. I figured with Lucy's personality that she wouldn't be as resentful as Edmund or Susan and perhaps look more on the bright side. 

Now, I know a lot of you were hoping for archery or something equally impressive, but the more I thought about it, the more it seemed the most unrealistic out of all three. I mean, first this is the 1940s so girls wouldn't be expected to really do archery in the first place, and second, Lucy is NINE. No teacher is going to have a class of nine year old girls do archery. My own sister hasn't and she's in girl scouts and 10!

So I came up with this. I figured with Lucy having her diamond vial that she'd eventually get interested in healing and ask the doctors for some lessons. And at some point or another someone would get hurt. So this is what came out.

Alright, thanks for all the reviews from: **Chocolatecoveredespressobean**,**m-oquinn**,**Greyhound****Master**,**AmySerenityRaye**,**floppyearsthebunny**,**FireSenshi2**,**spectacularspectacular**,**Narnian****Lily**,**Miniver**,**PrettyPrincessRen**,**killinguwithumbrellas**,**figlia****del****Dio**,**QuickCookie**,**viennacantabile**,**fledge**,**queenchristythenoble**, and **Garnet****Sky**

Again, thank you so much, I read every one, and I'm also using all the suggestions and correcting the mistakes you pointed out. Right now, literally. The corrections should go up soon.

FalconMistress17: Oh, and NO THANKS to my sister for NOT REVIEWING. **hinthint** someone's going to oweeeee meeeeee if they don't revviiiiieewwww! That's right, more modelling sessions with me and me camera. Be afraid, be very very afraid.

xox Ria


	5. Peter and Edmund

**AN:** Ok, so here's the chapter you've all been waiting for. Oh come on, you'll see what I mean at the end. Seriously, it IS the ultimate chapter...

Plus, it's extra special long. Though maybe that has to do with my extra special long AN at the bottom? Haha, nah, actually, this was 7 pages on word! 7! For a drabble, that's pretty long!

So rejoice minions! muha!

Er...yeah, sugar high. No really, I have consumed a chocolate bar, a pack of Jaffa Cakes, and a Creme Egg all very recently...Oh, and an apple. Does that count?

XD

* * *

**Peter and Edmund, Boarding School, Courtyard, after classes:**

It was growing darker earlier now during the evenings, but it would be a while yet before they were forced indoors for dinner. Edmund was standing with a group of his classmates as everyone argued about what to do before they were called in. He didn't say anything, just listened quietly as his eyes searched for someone he had been desperate to see for some time - Peter.

It was only once a week that Peter's classes managed to coincide with Edmund's long enough for the older boy to be able to seek him out so they could talk, but Edmund looked forward to the talks with quiet eagerness. It was just so refreshing to talk to someone his own age...and by that he meant his _real_ age.

Suddenly, he spotted Peter rounding a corner and excused himself from the circle of younger boys.

Peter had spotted him at the same time and he smiled at his younger brother. He wondered how Edmund was coping. Last time they had talked, Edmund had complained about not having enough intelligent company, and not being able to relate to any of his peers on even the most basic level. So Peter worried about his brother a lot. He knew Edmund could be slightly hot headed and could only hope that he hadn't done any thing foolish.

"Edmund," he greeted warmly.

"Peter," Edmund greeted back.

They both walked over to one of the wooden benches lining the courtyard where the boys were allowed to play.

"How are you holding up?" Peter broke the silence first after they'd sat down.

Edmund lifted a shoulder in a half-shrug and sighed.

"Same as ever Peter," he responded. "You?"

Peter thought about whether or not he should finally mention the _incident_. He'd put it off last time because he didn't want to worry his brother, but, the more he held it off, the more it would eat away at his thoughts. Besides, Peter wasn't one to keep secrets, especially if it affected all of them. As High King, he had had to act responsibly. Now was the time to do so as well.

He cleared his throat, "Actually Ed. There's something I've been meaning to tell you for some time now."

"Oh?" Edmund turned his full attention to his brother, not longer interested as to what his classmates were going to do with the pile of long sticks they'd procured.

"I acted out of turn," Peter finally sighed after some time.

Edmund's brow furrowed. What did Peter mean? He voiced this out loud.

"I forgot to pretend for a minute Ed," Peter said, clearly ashamed of himself.

"Oh."

Peter snuck a glance at his brother and was glad that Edmund didn't appear angry at his slip. But he did feel somewhat ashamed at doing the one thing he had lectured everyone else against doing. He was a hypocrite. He was the High King, leader and elder brother...he was supposed set an example, but here he was breaking the rules.

Peter sighed again.

"What happened?" Edmund finally asked.

"It was during a lecture on war tactics and the like," Peter said, remembering the incident quite clearly. "You know, with that one professor I think is irritating?"

Edmund's face showed comprehension and he nodded.

"Well," Peter continued, "I wasn't really paying attention and I got called up to the front and...and when asked to formulate a strategy, I guess I just got caught up in the moment and said more than I should have."

He turned to look at his brother's reaction, only to find Edmund smiling slightly.

"You always were such a brilliant strategist," the younger boy said wistfully.

Images of the past flashed through both sets of minds as the two remembered successful campaigns and long ago battles.

"But, you were a much better diplomat when it came down to it. You could smooth talk yourself out of anything," Peter chided his younger brother with a grin.

"Ah, well, we both know why I developed that kind of skill. I wasn't about to be caught off guard like before ever again," Edmund mussed.

There was an awkward silence as Edmund realised he'd breached a subject best left unsaid, and Peter as he distinctly remembered how Edmund had been taken in by the White Witch's honey coated words.

Suddenly, Edmund broke the silence. "Well, if it makes you feel any better, I also have a confession to make. It happened a few days ago." He stopped to wait for Peter's reaction.

Peter turned to look at his brother with a mild frown, suddenly afraid at what Edmund might have revealed.

"How bad?" he asked.

"Um." Edmund bit his lip. "You know how much I love horses, right?"

"Oh, Ed," Peter said with an exasperated sigh.

He knew only too well how much Edmund loved horses. While his brother had been awkward at first, he had soon grown to love the beasts, especially his own horse. Sometimes, Peter thought it might have had something to do with the fact that he was a better swordsman, so maybe if Edmund could become the better horseman, they would be evenly matched in a way. He had never voiced his suspicions out loud to his brother, but he knew they had always had a sibling rivalry, so it was very plausible.

"Well?" He finally prompted.

Edmund shrugged. "What do you think? I saddled up their best horse and rode it out. They were a bit angry that I didn't wear a helmet and that I jumped the fence and went into a gallop, but it was worth it."

"I'm sure it was." Peter rolled his eyes exasperatedly.

Edmund flashed his brother a grin. "I managed to convince them I'd taken lessons over the summer, but..."

"But?"

"But, I'm pretty sure the stable owner didn't believe me." Edmund shifted guiltily on his seat and turned his attention to the loud cries of his classmates. He laughed. "How appropriate. Look!" He pointed at them.

Peter turned to look and gave a small chuckle as well. "Here we are reminiscing about the past and they're mock sword fighting. It fits doesn't it?"

Edmund nodded and watched the boys try to hit each other with their sticks, all showing very poor form and footwork. One of the boys (Roger, he thought his name was) tripped and fell and the other boy was proclaimed the victor, his stick waving around triumphantly.

"I wonder how the girls are doing," Peter was murmuring.

"It's a jolly big pain isn't it? Being separated," Edmund agreed, still watching the fight.

They sat and watched for a bit longer, not saying anything, but enjoying the company and memories. It was a bit of normalcy in an otherwise hectic life of pretend.

"Hey Edmund! Come fight one of us! Let's see how good ya are!" Someone was calling Edmund's name.

Edmund glanced at the speaker - he was holding two sticks and offering one up. Everyone else was watching Peter and he, waiting for him to agree.

Edmund instead tried to decline. "No thank you. I'm speaking to my brother."

Peter shot him a look as if to say,'You should join and blend in.' The elder brother understood Edmund's desire for more mature company, but if he wasn't even trying...

"Older brother right?" The boy asked. "Hey, he can come too. In fact, why don'tcha go against each other. Younger brother against the older. What d'ya say lads?"

There was a chorus of agreement from the other boys.

Peter looked back and forth between his clearly anti-social brother and his classmates and made a split second decision. Even if Edmund wanted to stay away, he needed to try and fit in, other wise he was going to have a miserable life growing up again with no friends.

"Come on then Ed, I'm up for a bout." He nudged his brother.

"Peter?" Gasped Edmund. His voice dropped to a harsh whisper. "What's got into you? They'll notice we're too good for it to be normal."

Peter's lips quirked. "Hold back Ed, or is that too hard?" His voice was a clear challenge meant to provoke Edmund, and it was working.

Yet, Edmund couldn't help but feel that somehow they would slip up. It had happened a few times already and he'd made one big mistake with the horse - no need to add one more to the list.

"Not enough control?" Peter was now standing and staring down at his brother, although there was sincerity in his question. If Edmund said yes then they'd have to back down, but apparently the words really ruffled some feathers because he stood up as well and said, "A bout then."

"Great!" Enthused the boy holding the sticks. He tossed them at both brothers when they got close enough to catch them. Neither thought as their hands reached out to snatch the sticks from the air with barely a fumble. They both took up opposing positions across from each other, slipping into stances automatically out of long standing habit. They saluted each other, also out of habit, and then waited for the first brother to make a move.

Peter went first. He stepped forward lightly, and then brought the stick down in an obvious strike to Edmund's head. The younger brother blocked it easily, disengaged, and pretended to swing out to catch Peter in the stomach. That one was also blocked.

And so it began.

They carried on in this strain for a while, getting increasingly more daring, but always going for the obvious strikes and clashing their sticks as hard as they could for effect. But, it was apparently too much for muscle memory. Their muscles remembered how they should be fighting and without meaning to they both began to spar in earnest, adjusting stances and grips and blows.

And in their minds, the leave-strewn courtyard surrounded and cluster of cheering young boys began to fade, and instead they saw each other in a brightly lit courtyard surrounded by high stone walls and strewn with sand, while a centaur warrior watched on from the sidelines.

And just like in the past, their bodies danced and their arms struck. Instead of thunking wood, they heard the clashing of dulled blades, and instead of wearing a simple school boy's shirt and trousers, they were wearing padded armour and tunics which glinted in the early afternoon light.

"Come on Ed," Peter panted, his eyes half glazed, "you can do better than that!"

He tried to sneak in a side strike straight after Edmund had blocked a high cut, but his brother danced out of the way, feet crossing nimbly, only to lunge back in with his own counter attack.

They had stepped up the pace.

Neither of the two, so caught up in their battle and better times, noticed that the boys surrounding them had begun to back off, eyes wide and mouths gaping. Nor did they notice that more and more people had wandered over, either having seen the fight from a window, or heard of it through word of mouth. Even one teacher, coincidentally Peter's history lecturer, Professor Morton, who had come down to break up the supposed fight, was left standing on the outskirts, gaping at the show of obvious talent and knowledge.

Why, he imagined that if the boys weren't wearing school clothes and sparring with sticks, he could almost see them as two opponents out on a battle field from long ago!

But Peter and Edmund were oblivious to all this, both only having eyes for the other; watching their opponent's every move and responding with years worth of muscle memory and thought conditioning. It was certainly a sight to see.

Eventually though, Edmund began to grow tired, his eleven year old body finding it hard to cope with all the strain of a duel that had been fought when he was much older and far more conditioned. He began to block half-heartedly, slipping up and almost letting Peter in to catch him off guard. But, fortunately for Edmund, Peter was also growing tired.

Soon, they were at an impasse. Both boys broke away at the same time and stood en guarde, waiting for the other to strike and trying to rest at the same time. But then, Peter's eyes focused beyond his brother for the first time during the fight, and it slowly began to register in his brain that the amount of people he was seeing with astonished faces could not possibly be only the small posse of boys that had first entreated them to spar. Slowly he straightened, letting his arm drop to his side and gazing around him with slowly building panic. They had seen. All these people; Edmund's classmates, _his_ classmates, and Mr. Morton, the one person Peter had _never_ wanted to see him act out of turn again...they were all here, watching.

Edmund noticed his brother's face pale and the way his body tensed and dropped his own guard. It only took him a few seconds to work out why his brother was so frightened, and then he too was pale and tense, waiting for the inevitable.

"Th-that was amazing!" Edmund's classmate, the one who had started the whole thing, gasped out.

Mr. Morton was moving through the crowd of boys, trying to reach them. Peter dropped his stick like it burnt, and then reached forward to grab Ed's arm.

"Uh, we had," Peter swallowed and tried to sound more sure of himself. "We had lessons. Over the summer. Please excuse us, we need to talk." And then he dragged Edmund through the parting sea of boys, who all respectfully stepped aside to let them through, while impeding Morton's progress even more. Peter pretended not to hear his angry shouts.

"Peter! Ow, let go!" Edmund exclaimed, trying to wrench his arm free.

Peter yanked him around a corner and out of sight, before letting go and slumping against the school's wall. Edmund rubbed his wrist and watched as his brother mentally beat him self up.

"It's all my fault, Ed," he was mumbling. "If I hadn't insisted on you trying to fit in and made you go up there with me...I guess sometimes you have more common sense than I."

"Peter..."

"How could I possibly have made a good King? I make such bad decisions!" Peter clenched and unclenched his fist, angry at himself.

"Peter," Edmund tried again, staring him in the eye, "you were _never_ a bad King. Everyone messes up sometimes, and really, can you blame us? Besides, you covered it well. We'll just say we had lessons."

"But who can really call a fourteen year old and an eleven year old that good?" Asked Peter despondently.

Edmund shrugged uncomfortably.

"I..." Peter stopped and looked at the ground as if it was the most interesting thing he'd ever seen, "I guess, deep down I'm not okay with this like I said I was. I want to go back so badly, Ed. I'm sorry."

Edmund almost smiled. Finally, Peter had honestly admitted what they'd all been feeling from the start.

"Peter?" He caught his brother's attention and forced him to look up, "Next time don't try to be our pillar. What we need right now is a brother, not a King."

Peter almost laughed, somehow feeling relieved and slightly insulted all at once.

"All right," he said, smiling slightly, "I'll be a brother...but I'm still a King."

Edmund smiled back and went to lean on the wall next to him. "Yeah, I know. So am I."

* * *

**AN:** Eh? Well? SO?? How was it!!?? This was my first time for this kind of drabble. First, I had to try and write two different perspectives at the same time, so if the transitions seem a little weird, please forgive me, I'll try to fix it if I can, but I'm not promising anything. 

Second, well, there it was. The chapter I know you'd ALL been waiting for. I mean, come on, I dare any one of you to admit you weren't dying for a good sword fight! I dare you! (Just watch, one of you will say that you actually weren't...)

Third, the drabbles overlapped! Muha! Mr. Morton re-appeared and even though I didn't really say, let us assume that some of Peter and Edmund's classmates who saw the first slip up, and the second, were there.

Fourth, If any of you have anything to criticise, this time I'm going to try my hardest to reply to those reviews and either thank you for pointing out mistakes and correct them, or explain my reasoning to you. Yup.

And Fifth, ummmm, yeah...I actually fence, so I thought I'd be able to make this scene realistic. But fate is against me, because I realised that Peter and Edmund do broadsword fighting, not rapier! Ack! So I tried my best. Hope it sounds believable.

And I also hope I got the characters right, especially in their interaction!!!

Aaaand, I added a little depth to both Peter and Edmund at the end, please please PLEASE let me know what you think of those last lines, because I was a little hesitant on those.

Ok, I'm done.

Now for reviews.

Thank you to everyone that reviewed the last chapter. Although, **tear** poor little Lucy got only half the response Edmund did! Only 14 reviews! And it says on my stats page that 199 people actually read as far as chapter 4! So come on people, I know more than 14 people are reading. I mean, I'm on the alert list for 34 people and sixteen of you fav'd me (thanks for that btw I love you all dearly). Not that I'm accusing anyone, but come on, look at that review number, don't you want it to reach 100? I know I do...it's my goal. So help a girl out? Pwease? **puppy dog eyes**

Right, well, to those that DID review, I give you a very VERY big thanks, and double thanks to the ones who have reviewed almost, if not EVERY SINGLE TIME. (Which is most of you, yay!) **Gives everyone free hugs**:

**WickedWitchoftheSE**,** Greyhound****Master**,** Ellie**,** LaReine**,** PrettyPrincessRen**,** AmySerenityRaye**,** anyabar1987**,** fledge**, **Tamm**,** Miniver**, **figlia****del****Dio**, **FireSenshi2**, **Chocolatecoveredespressobean**, and **Luthien****and****Tari****Oronar**

oh, and thanks to my sister I suppose, who _says_ she _tried_ to review. I won't believe it till I see it though...hmmm...

Oh, and If anyone noticed I was feeling a little more chipper than usual, That's because, GUESS WHAT?? My exams are OVER. Muhahaha!

Finito.

Yay!

Next chapter should be soon, though probably not as exciting.

xox Ria


	6. Susan and Lucy

**AN:** I realised I have yet to write a disclaimer. Right? I think so.

So:

**Disclaimer: I don't own C.S. Lewis's work or characters. I do own any new characters or unrecognisable plot ideas. **

Anyway, here's the long awaited Susan/Lucy interaction. Took so damn long. Ugh. Uni second semester is BRUTAL. I've been so busy, it's insane! But at least I got my accommodation sorted for next year :D and now all I need to do is find a part-time job, actually start on my stupid french portfolio (whoever thought procrastination was a good idea needs to be shot...oh, damn, wait, I'm not suicidal...oh well…) and put together my one for Japanese. Why oh why did I take a DOUBLE major??? Why I ask you!!!??

I need my head checked or something. I swear. Anyway, enough ranting and raving, enjoy:

* * *

**Lucy Pevensie, Music Room, Boarding School: **

Lucy admitted to being guilty of sneaking out. She was quite good at sneaking though, so she didn't worry that she would get caught. And even if she did, well, it wouldn't be a big deal. She could explain it off.

It had been one those days. The kind of day where she had a lot of flashbacks and wanted to be alone for a while...and not participate in her peers' childish banter. Yes, even Lucy sometimes wanted to be mature.

So she went to the one place that she had discovered when she had been looking for Susan at the beginning of the school term. It was the music room.

To Lucy, the music room was like a gift from Aslan himself. She had always been fond of music, and dancing to a lesser degree - that was more Susan's forte. Or, perhaps that wasn't quite accurate. Lucy liked to be wild and dance barefoot with the dryads and nymphs, while Susan preferred the graceful uniformity of ballroom dancing. Like oranges and apples, different, yet both were fruit - just like both loved to dance.

Lucy slipped into her sanctuary; empty at this time of day as usual. A piano sat in the corner and other instruments lay in cabinets and shelves, or leaned up against the walls in their cases. There were violins, flutes, clarinets, piccolos, tin whistles (Lucy's personal favourite), and even one harp. There were a few percussion instruments as well. All instruments suited to a girl's tastes.

She still remembered the first time Mr. Tumnus had taught her how to play a flute - and then when she had received one as a present from her very dear friend. It had been one of her most prized possessions and she thought of it now wistfully.

Surveying, her temporary domain with a small smile, Lucy slipped off her shoes and stockings first, setting them by the door, which she also shut softly. In her sanctuary, she wanted to be able to let loose - that meant no earthly limitations. So, she also loosened her frock and took out her hair pins and immediately began to feel better. Barefoot, she padded to the centre of the polished wood floor and did an experimental twirl, delighting at the way her hair flew about her face and her frock flared out freely. She smiled, imagining she was in the woods, dancing under the stars - just like that time she had woken the dryads from their hibernation during the night.

Lucy stopped twirling and skipped lightly to the cabinet where she knew all the wind-instruments were kept. It wasn't locked since no one expected young ladies to steal, so she had access to all the instruments she could ever want. She pulled out one of the tin whistles.

Now, one thing Lucy was a little disappointed in, was the fact that they had no old-fashioned instruments, like Mr. Tumnus's favourite pipes. However, the tin whistles were definitely easy enough to figure out. She'd even tried playing the piccolo once or twice, though she wasn't as good at it. But the tin whistle was just like her wooden flute back in Narnia and she had no problem playing it.

She moved back to the centre of the room, bringing the whistle to her lips, and blowing a few experimental notes. The music came out shrilly on the first, but the second was steady and strong. Smiling around the mouth-piece, Lucy closed her eyes and brought forth the memories. Now, she could get lost in them and revel in the past - her one guilty pleasure.

And so, Lucy Pevensie allowed her fingers to dance gracefully over the holes of the whistle, playing the very first melody she had ever learnt - a Narnian lullaby. It was a haunting melody, full of secrets and sweet sorrow, and she allowed her body to sway in time with the notes. The music washed over her senses, and instead, she wasn't barefoot on polished wood, but dirt and leaves and grass, surrounded by her people and dancing yet another evening away.

Suddenly, feeling unaccountably sad, Lucy abruptly switched to one of the dryad's favourite melodies; a joyful, wild piece full of trills and quick notes.

If anyone were to poke their head through the door of the music room at that moment, they would have seen a rare sight. A young girl, looking almost intangible in darkness as the sunset bathed the room in soft yellows and oranges, dancing wildly along to the vibrating notes.

The flute left her lips, but the tune still played in Lucy's head and she danced on, spreading her arms and twirling across the floor, eyes still closed. In her memory she was joined by all manner of creatures. Why, even Susan appeared, emerging from the trees, a small smile upon her lips and holding her long gown in one hand while the other touched the trees softly as she moved. Her sister came closer, weaving gracefully through the dancers to the centre.

_Lucy…_

Lucy laughed joyously. _Come on Susan, dance with me!_

_Dear sister, you know I do not dance like this!_ Susan was smiling though and got briefly caught up with two dryads who twirled her around. She loosened her hands on her gown and flung them up, twisting gracefully and sensuously. Lucy danced closer.

_Susan the Gentle_. She laughed again, throwing her head back, her crown almost slipping off.

_Lucy the Valiant!_ Susan laughed too.

They danced together, Susan forgetting herself, as she was wont to do every once in a while.

_Lucy…_

Susan was calling her again.

Lucy brought the flute back up to her lips, joining in with the music and letting her spirit free.

_Lucy…_

She spun even more wildly.

"_Lucy!"_

Lucy opened her eyes. Susan was still calling her. She turned in the almost-twilight and saw her sister there, framed in the doorway, dressed neatly from head to toe, a scandalised expression on her face. Lucy felt too free to wonder at what her sister was doing there, or even if she was upset.

"Come join me sister!" She exclaimed. "We will dance like the dryads and remember the old days!"

Susan quickly moved into the centre of the room, trying to block Lucy's wild movements. Lucy slowed down slightly, but kept swaying.

"Lucy, what are you _doing_? This is unacceptable. And there will be no talk of _that_, thank you very much." The elder sibling tried to reach out to smooth down the younger's hair.

Lucy danced out of the way and smiled mysteriously. "No talk of _what?_" She asked.

"Of...of…"

Lucy stilled and looked at her sister sadly. "You were such a beautiful dancer. Why won't you join me? No one has to know. It will just be the two of us."

Susan looked away, clenching her fingers around a fold of her dress. Her gaze landed on the harp. Lucy followed it and grinned impishly.

"I know you played the harp, Susan," she cajoled.

Susan's eyes darted to Lucy's.

"I…" She trailed off.

Lucy raised the whistle to her lips again and blew the first few notes of what she knew was Susan's favourite Narnian tune. Susan's eyes glazed over, clearly remembering it. Slowly, she moved towards the harp, touching it hesitantly before sitting down in the seat next to it and plucking a few strings experimentally.

"It's been so long," she whispered.

Lucy knew what she meant.

Susan looked up at her little sister - a girl of nine, yet with the heart and mind of a wild Queen from the days of lore. Lucy had stopped being nine fifteen years ago...and Susan had stopped being thirteen an equally long time ago. She closed her eyes and plucked out a simple melody.

It had indeed been so long. Half the time, Susan felt like she had been in a dream and had been forced to awaken to the cruel reality of the world. She had dreamt of a beautiful Queen who was gentle and graceful and ever-so sought after. If she could only attain that dream again…

But it couldn't have just been a dream, could it have? Some memories were still so vivid. And she knew so many things she never had before.

Susan's fingers picked up the melody; a lullaby. A soft flute suddenly joined in, harmonising her notes and creating a beautiful melody.

The once-queen closed her eyes and imagined she was back in her dream-world - back in Narnia. Her fingers automatically found the right strings, without having to look, and instead of sitting in a darkening classroom in the middle of war-torn England, she was sitting in a stone room in a beautiful gown, plucking the strings of a gilded, wooden harp as twilight blanketed her land. As Queen again, she enjoyed the last vestiges of daylight in the welcome company of her sister.

"_Dance, Susan,"_ came the whisper.

Dance? Thought Susan. Her fingers left the harp and she stood, opening her eyes to regard her younger sister, who was still playing her whistle while swaying and twirling slowly. Without realising it, she was already taking off her shoes and stockings. Susan discarded them absently by the harp, mesmerised by her sister and flashing back to all those times she had joined her in the woods.

She had never admitted to doing it on purpose. She always told herself that she was simply looking for Lucy and happened across her when she was being wild. And how could she not join in eventually? It would have disappointed the dryads. But she wouldn't admit to doing it on purpose.

One bare foot stepped forward and arms came out automatically to twist with the lilting strains of the magical melody. Her hips twisted and swayed like they'd been so practised at doing, her other arm twisting and fluttering like a swan.

Lucy opened her eyes again and watched her older sister begin dancing. Even though she was so much younger than she had been, Lucy could still see the beginnings of her later grace and beauty in her movements. Smiling, she began to pick up the pace, forcing her fingers to work faster and her breath to come quicker. She twirled faster, and Susan also adjusted automatically, beginning to hum along with the melody.

Moonlight began to spill into the room from the glass windows and cast a luminescent glow on the two dancing girls. Lucy forgot all her troubles and Susan forgot that she had come there seeking Mr. Trébour - she just danced and sang wordlessly. Neither girl realised that Susan had left the door open, or that Mr. Trébour had come to investigate the faint sounds of music.

They still didn't notice when he peered through the crack left by the open door, or watched in awe. Even when he was joined by his partner, Marie, they kept on dancing and singing. They seemed like visions of nymphs he'd seen in paintings. He didn't quite understand what he was seeing either. Both Pevensie sisters seemed like something out of a world of fantasy - a world far removed from England and all its ugliness.

"What is that?" Marie whispered, eyes wide in shock.

"I don't know," he murmured, "but from what I've seen, there is something about Susan and her sister that just doesn't fit. It's a mystery."

"It's like a dream," Marie said.

"Yes, a dream," Trébour agreed.

He touched Marie's elbow slightly and they both drew away from the door, the haunting music following them down the hall.

Lucy and Susan carried on, oblivious to it all until, finally out of breath, Lucy stopped playing, letting the final note die away into silence.

Susan stopped moving and panted slightly. She turned to Lucy and looked at her with bright eyes and a smile, whimsical smile on her lips.

"I haven't done that in…"

"I know," Lucy cut in. She reached out and grasped one of Susan's hands in her own. "Promise me you won't forget? That you'll keep Narnia alive in your heart until the times comes for us to return?"

Susan faltered, trying to draw her hand back.

"We're never going to return Lucy, it might not even have been real." She hated to break her little sister's heart, but the words had to be said.

Lucy shook her head furiously. "No! Never think that! Narnia was real! Aslan was real! We were _Queens_, Susan! Once a King or Queen of Narnia, _always_ a King or Queen of Narnia. So don't forget!" She dropped the whistle and it clattered away out of sight. Using both hands this time, she grasped Susan's and tugged her into a wild twirl.

"_That_ is Narnia," she said. "Wildness and dancing and magic beyond anything here - happiness and laughter and memories we can never forget! As long as you can still dance and be happy, you will always remember Narnia."

Susan stared hard at her sister. At the words coming out of the mouth of her little, nine-year old sister and couldn't help but believe her.

"But, sometimes it's so hard," she whispered.

"Think of it as simply another adventure. The kind of adventure where you get lost along the way home and don't return for a very long time, but eventually you always do." Lucy smiled, letting go of Susan's hands and doing another twirl in the moonlight.

Susan didn't have the heart this time to tell Lucy that she was never going back. Aslan himself had told her and Peter there would be no more adventures, so how could she still believe? It was so unfair. But soon Lucy's time would come as well. Would her sister turn bitter then? When she finally realised that Narnia no longer wanted her? Susan hoped not. Lucy wouldn't be Lucy unless she was being carefree and spirited.

She watched her spin around silently and smiled. Lucy was really still a child at heart, and she would most likely continue to be for a long time yet. But she, Susan Pevensie, had to move past all that. It had been fun, dancing and reminiscing, but it couldn't happen again. If she didn't move on, she would be stuck in the past and never be able to become like she had been before. If she wanted to become Susan the Gentle again, she was going to have to set her mind to the future.

"I've got to go, Lucy," she whispered.

Lucy stopped dancing and turned, pouting slightly. "Are you sure Susan? Surely we can have some more fun first? There are more dances. Maybe a ballroom one?"

"I'm taking classes, did you know?" Susan diverted the topic.

"That's wonderful Su!" Lucy exclaimed, eyes sparkling. "I'm sure you're the best in the class."

Susan laughed modestly, though it was true. "Mr. Trébour doesn't quite know what to think of me, I'm sure."

Lucy's face lit up. "Oh, is that that handsome man I've seen around. He's the dance teacher?"

Susan blushed and nodded. Lucy sighed wistfully.

"If only we were older again...I'm sure Mr. Trébour wouldn't be able to resist you!" She giggled, only to suddenly stop, realising that maybe that hadn't been the best thing to say. She knew how much those kinds of things had mattered to Susan. "I'm sorry," she offered.

"But it's true," Susan bit out bitterly, staring off to the side. Lucy shifted uncomfortably, feeling bad.

"Just a few more years Susan, that's all. It's a new chance - you can re-do any mistakes you made, wouldn't that be exciting?"

Susan looked at her younger sister and thought that perhaps Lucy should have been the one more bitter. After all, she was even younger - nine! At least at thirteen, Susan was taken more seriously than a nine year old.

"I've got to go," she finally repeated, not answering the question.

"But…" Lucy began.

Susan knew that if she wanted to escape now before she relived anymore painful memories, that she had to leave, and leave before Lucy drew her into yet another conversation.

"Bye," she murmured, turning around quickly and exiting the room without looking back once. She felt bad about leaving her sister like that, but knew that there was no way she could keep talking to her without shattering her dreams and whimsical thoughts. Lucy still lived in her own imagination, and Susan wasn't going to be the one to break her. It was the least she could do.

Silently, she re-affirmed her promise to forget the past and move forward. If that meant talking less to Lucy, then so be it. The younger girl would probably benefit from not hearing Susan's cynical thoughts. It was only when she was almost back to her room that she realised that she'd forgotten her shoes and stockings.

Susan stopped in the hallway and almost went back, but decided against it. She would get up early the next day instead and go fetch them. Feeling irritated with herself for more reasons than one, Susan pasted on a smile and entered her shared room.

In the music room, Lucy had watched her sister leave with a heavy sadness. She was loosing Susan, she knew. She wasn't sure why, but it was obvious that the elder girl was forgetting, or just in denial. It was upsetting, it really was, but her earlier beliefs still held true. After all, her sister was still Queen Susan, and she would never stop being Queen Susan. One day Susan would return to Narnia, and it would welcome her back with open arms.

Lucy smiled, feeling better, and picked up the tin whistle. She turned it over in her hands and admired how the moonlight reflected off its metal surface. Perhaps not quite the same as a wooden flute, but it had its own charm. She put it back in its cupboard, after using a corner of her dress to clean it and gathered her shoes and stockings.

It was only when she glanced back at the room once more that her eyes caught Susan's own pair of footwear sitting abandoned by the harp. She walked over and picked them up, grin threatening to split her face. Apparently, Susan had been more affected by her sister's words than she had thought if she could forget her shoes and stockings.

Lucy had to laugh.

* * *

**AN:** Well. There you have it. Gods, I don't know how long it took me to come up with this. I admit to having a painful few days where I just kept drawing a blank, because for some reason I couldn't think of what Kings and Queens might do in their spare time. So I e-mailed my sister and was like: What would Lucy and Susan have done in Narnia that they could have in a 1940s boarding school. See? Sisters are good for something XP Haha, kidding kidding…

Right, well, please let me know what you think. It was hard writing Susan, especially in this situation. I tried to keep with what I'd previously established as her thoughts and reasoning, but I'm not entirely sure if I succeeded. Lucy was much easier to write of course! And couldn't you just see her going wild like that to some unheard tune that only she can hear? I can.

Speaking of which, did I do a good job describing all that? Did I go a bit overboard? Ehh...I'm a bit tired, haven't been getting much sleep. I'm going to beta this several times over, so hopefully it should turn out alright.

But on to more important things: I GOT 100 REVIEWS!! OMG I LOVE YOU GUYS!!! **Sobs dramatically** Thank you so much! You made my day, all of you! 100 has been my goal since I started writing fanfiction. Now that I've reached it, I'm a little unsure of what to do now. Set a goal of 200?

Anyway, just wanted to add a couple of things.

I posted an update thingy in my author profile if any of you ever wonder how far into the next chapter I am and want to be kept updated. I'll try to update that frequently, so you'll all know.

I am now going to shamelessly advertise myself to anyone who has a deviantart account (or anyone who just likes art). I'm not too bad, and slowly improving, so if anyone wants to leave a quick comment or check me out, the address is in my profile, under homepage. XP

I am going to further shamelessly advertise myself to anyone who reads Harry Potter. I started a new fanfic just for kicks (aka, a parody) which evolved into something sort of serious. Anyway, if you like Harry Potter, AUs, and elves then go check it out! XD

KK, Thanks SO MUCH to anyone who reviewed last chapter:

**Augrey07, oxSiLentCuRiosItYxo, Kelev, fledge, Chcolatecoveredespressobean, anyabar1987, Greyhound Master, KCS, Luthien and Tari Oronar, lareine, rmiller92, bulldog129, Cirolane, FireSenshi2, Eva aka Pinkfox, floppyearsthebunny, The Lion's Lamb, AmySerenityRaye, WickedWitchoftheSE, FalconMistress17, figlia del Dio, Tamm, Ellenlome, killing u with umbrellas, JustMe, Ilonwy**

Ok, I think I got everyone. And I also tried to respond to most people's reviews this time around as well, though I might have missed a few, if I did, I'm sorry! I read every review and for those that made suggestions or pointed out mistakes, those have been taken into consideration and/or going to be fixed

Again, thank you sooo much for reviewing, you all made my day! Especially when I was panicking over certain presentations that I was forced to pull together at the last minute!! Boy, that sucked!

Ok, well, this ALMOST concludes the first set of oneshots I guess. I'm going to do something a little different for the next chapter. One of you made the suggestion, so perhaps you can figure it out, as for the rest, have fun guessing XP

Toodles!

xoxRia


	7. Interlude

**INTERLUDE:**

It was the end of year staff party where both the boy's and girl's schools got together and celebrated the coming of summer and Mr. Morton had a headache. He groaned and rubbed his temples delicately, frowning at the loud laughing coming from his right. It was the dance teacher and his partner from the girl's school, speaking to Caulworth from the boy's sport department. Something French, he was sure. Tres-something.

Mr. Morton let out another groan and knew he wouldn't be having anymore wine. Instead, he sought a place to sit. Somewhere where he could relax and hope the pounding in his temples went away. Really, whatever had possessed him to teach young, rowdy boys the art of war? And history! Why could they never find interest in any part of history that didn't involve battle?

Well, actually...Morton's thoughts strayed to one particular boy - Peter Pevensie.

The Pevensies were a conundrum. At fourteen and eleven respectively, they certainly never acted their age. Or at least, Peter never did, though he wasn't so sure about his younger brother - Edward? Something like that.

Finally spotting an empty seat just past where Caulworth was talking to the French dance instructor, he moved to claim it before anyone else. That is, that was his plan before he heard mention of a name - one, single name that had him halting in his tracks and turning to stare at the group.

Now what did the three have to say about the Pevensies?

He quickly stepped into the little group, almost rudely pushing his way into the conversation.

"I have Peter Pevensie in my history class," he announced quickly, and just like that they made room for him, stepping back and allowing him to stand within their group.

"I took Edmund horse riding," said Caulworth with a bemused shake of his head. Ah, so that was it. Edmund, not Edward.

"And I teach Susan dance. I've seen her younger sister too. Lucille or Lucy," said the dance instructor.

"Lucy, dear. I helped out when one little girl broke her ankle falling from a tree. She was involved in that," said the woman.

They all exchanged looks, the kind of look that's only understood by someone who has felt and seen the same kind of phenomenon - in this case, the Pevensies.

"There's just something _odd_ about them, wouldn't you say?" Asked Morton, hoping for once that people would know what he was talking about. This went beyond the simple comments of "Oh, that Pevensie boy? Quite precocious isn't he?" or, "Ah, Pevensie! Very mature. A bit strange, but a pleasure to teach."

Slowly, the other three nodded and Morton felt relief. "Well then?" He asked, inviting them all to share stories.

Caulworth went first. "Edmund is...well, he never gets along with any of his classmates. He's always alone, brooding. He never acts his age either. It's like an old man in a young boy's body."

"They call that an old soul," said the woman (what was her name?).

Caulworth shrugged slightly. "Well, yes, but even more so he's..._strangely_ good at certain things. Horse riding for one. The stable master confided to me that he's never seen such a rider at that age - even older riders have a hard time finding the kind of skill and grace the Pevensie boy apparently displayed."

"I know what you mean," said Morton, his mind flashing back to a month ago. When the others glanced at him questioningly, he continued, "I caught the two brothers, Peter and Edmund did you say?" A nod. "Yes, I caught them sword fighting with sticks in the courtyard several months ago. Grace and skill doesn't even begin to cover it. What I saw was like watching a real battle. I could easily see them with real swords and real armour. They're fourteen! And eleven?" Another nod. "Eleven!" He reached up to rub his temples, his headache having not abated in the slightest. "And if you think any of them are precocious, then Peter certainly is. You'll never believe some of the things he comes up with, especially during political discussions. Why, I half want to just throw the boy at Parliament and tell them to use him, because some of the ideas he comes up with are pure genius! Far beyond his age."

Everyone exchanged glances and Morton felt better after having gotten that all off his chest. Finally, people who wouldn't just chuckle at him and say, "That's a bit of an exaggeration, don't you think?"

"Lucy diagnosed a girl's broken ankle and sprained wrist. She's nine. I just don't understand it at all. But that's what the nurse told me happened and when we brought the girl to the hospital, she was right. She's nine years old," the woman repeated, shaking her head as if she couldn't quite believe it. "Nine years old, and she was right."

"And you've seen young Susan's skills at dancing, Marie," said the Frenchman.

Marie, that was the woman's name.

Marie nodded. "Exceptional. She's only thirteen, she must have been learning since she could walk to be able to pull off that amount of elegance and grace."

"Beautiful too, for a girl her age, though I've heard not the brightest in her studies," agreed her partner.

Morton and Caulworth exchanged a look. So the female Pevensies were just as strange as their male counterparts then. Somehow, that wasn't surprising.

"I caught them in the music room once," said the Frenchman, turning to Morton and his colleague. "It was the strangest thing. It was like something out of a dream."

"Ethereal," agreed Marie. "They were like fairies. The kind your mother tells you about when you're a child. Such wild dancing...well, I never…" She shook her head again, disbelieving.

Morton knew how she felt. He often thought the same whenever he was confronted with the actions of either of the male Pevensies.

"I just don't understand these children," sighed Caulworth. "What makes them so different? Special?"

Morton scowled. Special? Well, he supposed so. Would he be able to say he'd taught the next Prime Minister? "I don't know, John."

"I'd venture to say it was their upbringing, but I know that their father is a simple professor, just like us," said John Caulworth.

"Oh?"

Caulworth answered Marie's unspoken question. "I looked it up, wondering if perhaps young Edmund's father owned horses or raced. To explain it, you see."

They nodded in understanding, all of them.

"But he's just a professor. Nothing special. Been to America to lecture, but that's about it."

There was a companionable silence.

"So then...what?" Asked the Frenchman.

"It's possible they are geniuses, but it is rare enough to come across just one, let alone four in one family," said Marie uncertainly.

"Not Susan," pointed out her dance partner.

"Her dancing is genius."

"That could just be uncanny talent."

"Or something more."

The two remaining professors had to agree. It was definitely something more. But the question was, _what_?

And unfortunately for one Professor Morton's peace of mind, that question would never be answered.

* * *

**AN:** Yes, you're seeing right. This IS an update. Hurrah!

So, Happy Christmas everyone! Or Happy whatever-you-celebrate. It's a bit late, I know, but hey, it's an update, right?

Anyway, so, here's the final end to the first set of drabbles. I've gone and written the next chapter as well, however, I don't want to update that until I have the one after it written as well. So, while Peter is set, Edmund isn't. If anyone has any ideas for either Lucy or Edmund, then please be my guest and give me a little nudge in whichever direction in your reviews. It would be greatly appreciated. I do have some vague idea for Edmund and I've already got Susan sorted, but Lucy is definitely a hard one! So, really, the quicker you give me ideas, the quicker I can get out the next chapters :P

Although, I'm sure I'd think of something eventually. But it's getting hard not to repeat things already used. Oh dear.

Anyway, hope you enjoyed this little outside opinion on the Pevensies. **grins**

And thank you so so much to everyone that's ever reviewed over the last several months! I really appreciate it all, especially the wonderful feedback. So many of you mention things in your reviews that shows me that I did a good job characterising the Pevensies and I'm really glad. :]

Keep reading! Hopefully I should update again really soon! :D

xoxRia


	8. Peter duo

_**AN: **I apologise for the long wait. I had both exams and this horrible, 8 page long Japanese translation from hell. I'll say this now, that Taeko Matsuda, wherever you are, you better run and hide, because if I ever find you, well...it's not going to be pretty...**clears throat** anyway, please enjoy the first chapter of the second installment of Slip Ups! ~Ria_

* * *

**Peter, Sixth Form, London:**

Peter thought that sixth form would be different - he'd be older and more respected. He'd long ago accepted that he would have to grow up all over again and that he would never return to Narnia, but somewhere in a small dark corner of his mind glimmered a small light of hope. Hope that Aslan would change his mind; hope that they would accidentally stumble across a doorway into Narnia. This small measure of hope had kept him going through the rough times, like that time Lucy and Edmund - and, of all people, Eustace! - had come back from summer bursting with tales and news of Narnia. _That_ had been hard. And then when Susan had come back from America and refused to speak of it with him - that had also been hard. Not to mention when Eustace and Jill had returned yet again, but at least then he, Edmund and Lucy had all been in the same boat.

But now he was in sixth form, so things would be different, he was sure. The masters would no longer look down on him for being young and supposedly inexperienced. He'd be treated like an adult and talked to intelligently.

Or at least, that was the plan.

Unfortunately, Peter hadn't counted on a set of three particular boys taking an extreme dislike to him. He still didn't quite know what he'd done wrong. His friend Alex claimed it was because sometimes Peter acted like he was above everyone else and looked down his nose at them. While it was true that Peter was indeed quite tall for his age, he didn't think he 'looked down' on people.

"But you do," insisted Alex after the second incident of hostility. "Maybe you just don't realise it."

Peter was silent.

"I put up with it because I know you, but to other people it sometimes looks like you think you're, well, I don't know, the King himself or something."

At this Peter had the grace to look slightly abashed and just a tad nervous. Apparently, even being away from Narnia for so long and being young again hadn't diminished the years of Kinghood upon his countenance.

"Do you?" Alex had asked one night in their shared room.

"Do I what?" Asked Peter crossly, still fuming over the mild bruise on his arm from earlier. How dare Samuel and his ilk treat him in that manner!

"Think everyone else below you."

Peter immediately opened his mouth to say 'But of course not,' but stopped. What had he just been thinking? How _dare_ Sam? He'd been thinking Samuel below him, he realised. But only because Sam insisted on picking fights, that was all!

"I," Peter began. "Well, see here, it's just because Samuel is acting quite childish and not at all gentlemanly. He is the one picking fights, not me. I don't _look down_ on people, but when they insist on acting in this manner, I can't help but be disproving." He turned to see Alex staring at him bemusedly.

"You're doing it again Peter," said his friend.

"Doing _what_?"

"Being above everyone else."

"I am not," insisted Peter hotly.

"Yes, you are. You try to act better everyone else, like you're the adult and they're the misbehaving child."

Peter opened his mouth to again refute this with something along the lines of 'But I _am_ the adult,' and then stopped himself again. He wasn't the adult now, was he? As a student not yet an adult, he shouldn't be acting in this way. Again, Narnia had come back to haunt him.

The conversation had stilted after that, but Peter had tried to keep in mind his friend's words. However, no matter how hard he tried, he could never quite manage to curb his bearing. As Edmund had once observed with amusement, he still carried himself like the High King Peter of Narnia and not simply schoolboy Peter Pevensie. He had a certain air about him, Edmund said. Peter had responded in like, stating that Edmund was quite the same. Then Lucy had butted in and smiled mischievously while stating that Edmund had never been quite the stick in the mud that Peter had been. This had of course resulted in a merry chase.

But now - now, half way through the year and still Samuel was picking fights, well, Peter was quite fed up with it.

He had had _enough_.

"You think you're so much better than us, don't you Pevensie!" Samuel was sneering while his two friends boxed him in against the courtyard wall. A few of the other boys had stopped what they were doing and were watching in anticipation.

No one ever helped Peter. Alex said it was because some agreed with Sam, but Peter thought that it was most likely that Sam was a bully and most of the boys didn't want to get on his bad side.

"This is getting ridiculous," Peter snapped, eying Sam's friends warily.

"Shut up!"

Peter's temper sparked. "Don't speak to me like that," he said coldly.

Samuel's scowl increased. "Hear that everyone? Peter Pevensie doesn't think _I_, humble Samuel Rittmaster, should speak to him that way!"

Peter's anger grew. Now Sam was mocking him. He'd been mocking him _all year long_.

"Stop acting like a brat," he spat.

Sam laughed mockingly. "Oh, _I'm_ the brat am I? And what are you, O' Majesty?"

Oh that was it. Sam was picking a fight sure, and so far Peter had only responded with words and mild defence. But now, well, Peter was _fed up_ and so Sam was going to get what he'd asked for.

Too bad for Sam he was picking a fight with a battle-scared High King.

Peter threw the first punch. He knew it would get him in trouble, but he honestly didn't care at the moment. He made sure to aim for Samuel's cheek though, so there would be no broken noses.

Sam reeled back in shock, clutching his bleeding lip. He probably hadn't expected Peter to crack so soon - or so easily.

"Is that what you wanted?" Sneered Peter, wiping his hand on his shirt and shifting his feet and weight into a ready position in case any of the three boys attacked. "For me to _lower_ myself to your level? Well, congratulations, you succeeded. You've made me angry."

Sam was silent. The rest of the boys in the courtyard had formed a large semi-circle around the four. Then Peter laughed a bit.

"Well, I suppose I've been itching for a fight. Too bad for you that you've picked it with the wrong person."

Sam's sneer suddenly returned. "I think it's _you_ who's picked it with the wrong person. I'll have you know I'm a boxing champion."

Peter could believe it. But that didn't matter. Nothing could compare to a screaming battlefield, blood and bits flying across your vision as you struggled under the heavy sun in the heat of the day, chain mail and armour weighing you down like a tonne of bricks. Nothing could compare to the weight of a shield and sword in your hand, and the blows from others of equal weight and deadly sharpness. Nothing could compare to the fear and adrenaline coursing through your veins in the heat of battle. Nothing could compare to the screams of the dying echoing in your ears as you knew that any second could be your last. Nothing.

Certainly not boxing.

So Peter smiled and said, "We'll see."

The fight started in earnest. And if it had been anyone else but Peter, three on one would have seemed grossly unfair. But it became clear after a while that perhaps three on one wasn't enough. Peter was able to duck and weave expertly, the adrenaline and light feeling he gained from the lack of armour allowing him to sometimes time things so that the punches thrown ended up on an ally's face. It was exhilarating; fun!

Peter felt a grin pull at his lips, even as he felt the dull pain of a solid punch land on one arm. Still the weight of a punch versus the weight of a sword or shield - even an armoured fist! - was nothing and he only stumbled a bit before shrugging it off and continuing his battle with vigour.

And a battle it was, at least in Peter's mind. All the battle's he'd ever fought flashed across his mind. The great battle at the Fords of Beruna, all his forays into the lands of the giants, the war against the Telmarines, Peter's own fight against Miraz - the list went on. Snippets from each were dragged up from his memories and he began to fight even harder, as some part of him was convinced that this too was a life or death situation. After all, he'd only ever really been in life and death fights.

Sam tried to land more punches, but Peter dodged them and managed to get in an uppercut to the other boy's stomach. One of Sam's friends clipped him in the back, but Peter ducked down soon after and used his foot to trip one boy into the other. They fell in a tangled heap on the ground, groaning and moaning. Sam charged and tried to tackle him as soon as he rose, but Peter used Sam's own weight against him and ended up throwing him over his shoulder and into the wall. Then it was only Peter standing.

Sam groaned heavily and stumbled to his feet, one hand clutching the rough stone of the wall and the other pressing against his side where he'd hit the wall.

"What the blazes _are_ you?" Gasped out Sam, his eyes now far more fearful than they'd ever been.

Peter blinked, coming back to himself slightly. He looked down at the partially standing boy and said, "What do you think I am?"

Sam swallowed and then grimaced because he'd swallowed some blood. "You're a demon."

Peter laughed. "Hardly, though I have often enough heard my enemies call me such names on the-" he paused and stopped speaking. He had been about to say 'battlefield' but that was such an absurd thing to say in England. He'd best watch his tongue. Still, he'd said to much as it was.

"Enemies?" Coughed Sam. "_Enemies?_"

Fortunately, Peter didn't have to explain himself further to his nemesis. The tight ring of students who had encircled the fight and who had been egging them on now fell completely silent and began to disperse. Peter knew without looking that a master or two must have come to investigate as they tended to do when things got this out of control.

"Mr. Pevensie!" Bellowed a voice angrily just as loud footsteps stomped up to him and a heavy hand landed on his shoulder from behind.

Peter stiffened and shrugged it off angrily, stepping away from the touch.

"What do you have to say for yourself!" Demanded the professor. Unfortunately, he was the same height as Peter and thus did not seem as imposing as he might have wished to. Instead, Peter somehow managed to look like he was the one staring down the older man.

"Do not touch me sir. And perhaps you should ask these three behind me, I believe they might wish to explain their actions as well."

The man blustered and looked extremely offended, though Peter wasn't entirely sure why.

"Sir, please!" Samuel exclaimed tearfully from behind him, "He started it, he threw the first punch, I was just defending myself!"

Peter turned and glared heavily at the other boy, who had the good grace to cower slightly against the wall. "Do. Not. Lie."

"It's true, Pevensie _did_ throw the first punch!" Exclaimed one of Samuel's friends.

Peter made an exasperated sound in the back of his throat. "I am not speaking of that. I understand perfectly well I threw the first punch, but perhaps you need to be reminded _why_."

Sam flushed angrily and turned pleading eyes on the master. The man glanced at the brown haired boy and then back to Peter. To an outsider the situation looked quite clear - Peter, standing proud and strong, was the bully, and Sam and his friends, cowering against the wall, were the victims. However, Peter was also known for his extremely good behaviour and responsibility, so the older man was having quite a bit of difficulty trying to decide who to blame and what to do.

"Now see here Mr. Pevensie," began the man, "if you threw the first punch then you started this fight-"

"You aren't going to ask me _why_ I did so?" Peter interrupted coldly, glaring heavily at the man.

Without quite knowing why, the professor found himself perspiring slightly and tugged a bit at his tie and collar. There was just something about the Pevensie boy that made you want to listen and obey. He was commanding and charismatic, for such a young age. He could also be quite intimidating, the professor was just discovering.

"Y-yes, well, it's clear that poor Mr. Rittmaster has-"

"Silence!" Hissed Peter, now furious. Again and again he was looked over, dismissed and disbelieved!

The master's mouth shut with a snap, his eyes wide and shocked at Peter's speech.

"I've had enough! I refuse to partake of this ridiculous excuse of justice and authority any longer." If Peter had been anyone else he might have stamped his foot and crossed his arms. Instead he held his head high and glared down first the professor and then Sam and his friends. "As for you," he added, addressing the boy, "you would do well to realise just who you're messing with. Leave me be." Then he turned on his heel and stalked away, thoroughly fed up and needing to get out of that courtyard before he did or said anything more revealing. He left everyone else standing like fish, gaping after him with open mouths and dumbfounded expressions. No doubt the incident would be all over the school come dinner.

Alex was standing at the courtyard entrance and quickly fell into step with him when he entered the building.

"That's definitely the worst I've ever seen you," offered his roommate. "Like the bloody King of England you were."

Peter didn't say anything, not trusting his tongue at the moment.

"You fought like a man possessed too. Remind me never to get on your bad side."

Peter grunted in response.

"I won't ask," Alex finally concluded as they rounded the corner and entered their section of the dormitories, "but there's something about you Peter Pevensie, something _odd_."

* * *

**AN: **Right, first things first: I freely admit that I cheated on this chapter. I stole from the movies. But they're such _brilliant_ movies so how could I not? I know that perhaps Peter might be a little out of character here, but I want you all to consider first that he's grown up some since we last saw him and he's a bit more tempermental (hormones and all, poor dear) and especially frustrated that despite the years that pass, he's still not being treated the way he wishes he was. He's still trying to search for the echo of the life he left behind. Add in continual bullying and you get a very upset Peter whose temper is just about ready to snap...and it does.

On the other hand, I just want to take the rest of this AN to say that I am completely overwhelmed by the response to my last chapter...and an interlude at that! The amount of positive response and feedback and a couple of very educational comments (thanks for those, by the way :]) really made my day. And there were so many! Especially in consideration with my little plea from last chapter. You'll be glad to know I've figured out Susan and I'm actually quite proud of her next chapter. I'll be going a bit out of order and posting her chapter next (or perhaps I'm going _in_ order this time ;P). But all the other ideas were amazing, thank you so much! Especially those of you that took the time to really write out a lot (you know who you are). I read and considered every single one of them. I've got a little list and am churning over different approaches to all the ideas in my head all the time.

But damn. Seriously. I never dreamed my little drabbles would be so popular!

In case you were wondering:  
+12,000 hits  
+100 favs (**sniffles** aw guys! thanks!)  
+120 alerts (I can't believe over 120 people are reading this fic! Amazing! **coughs** Come on those of you who haven't reviewed yet...you know you want to...pretty please let me know what you think? **puppy dog eyes**)  
Almost 200 reviews = **I'm staggered**. Wow.

And just in case anyone was wondering or perhaps looking for a shout-out, this chapter came out a few days early (I was going to wait until Wednesday since I pulled an all-nighter...that's right, I'm currently writting this juiced up on enough caffiene and chocolate to sink a battleship) but a very, very thoughtful PM by a certain someone not too long ago convinced me to put off going to bed by a half-hour and finish getting this up and posted **now**. But really, a special thanks to anyone and everyone who shared their thoughts with me, whether through R/R or PM. I love you all to bits. Yes, even you sister-dearest.

In a purely platonic way, of course...

Right...

**clears throat**

Until next time!

xoxRia

p.s. and yes that _is_ Latin in the title for the hell of it. I don't even know Latin. Ah the wonders of the internet...


	9. Susan duae

**Susan Pevensie, Somewhere-in-New-Jersey, United States of America, a park:**

Everyone said she was the very picture of maturity and responsibility. Anyone who knew her siblings said the same about them, but it was Susan especially that they found to be the most adult-like. She was calm and graceful; sensible and reliable. She was everything she'd striven to be...and yet something had to have been missing. Why else then would her parents insist on dragging her out here to the country instead of allowing her to remain in the Big Apple?

She loved New York - its bright lights and hundreds of people rushing to and fro. There was always something to do somewhere, whether that be shopping in the many vibrant stores, or seeing a play on Broadway. Oh Broadway! You could be anyone when you acted, even a queen..._especially_ a queen.

Susan's grip tightened on the park bench and her eyes shut, blocking out the sight of the leaves overhead. Yes, she could see it now. A play with her as Queen. She would wear a beautiful silk and velvet gown and a lovely golden crown decorated in blooming flowers. Her slippers would be soft and when she danced it would seem as if she was gliding across the floor. She would be the most beautiful woman in the land.

Or girl. Girl. She was a _girl_. Not yet seventeen.

Susan's grip tightened and then released as the wood began to cut into her palm. Time was moving so slowly! Everyday she grew just a bit more towards adulthood and the beautiful woman she knew she would become. And she would be just like a queen.

Susan the Gentle. That sounded right. Or perhaps Susan the Beautiful...but no, for some reason Gentle had a nicer ring to it. She wasn't quite sure why. Because of the make-believe she used to pretend as a child? Perhaps.

Susan sighed to herself and opened her eyes, looking around the small park. Boring houses lined one of the roads, the one she was facing, and there was an empty field to her back. She and her parents were staying in a small inn located just beyond the street of houses. For the second time.

This was her second time in America. Her father's initial lecturing tour had been very well received and he had been asked to come back. Neither Lucy nor Edmund had expressed any desire to come, and Peter had really delved into his studies to the point where you'd have thought he was trying to become the youngest politician in the world. No one quite knew why Peter was so hung up on politics and history, or if they did they weren't telling. Sometimes Mother and Father would ponder how much their children had changed over the breakfast table and Susan would listen and offer advice.

Peter was hardened. Edmund was bitter - or had been. Now it was like he just simply didn't fit in with anyone, no matter how hard he tried. He had become somewhat of an idiot-savant as they liked to say. Both Peter and Edmund had shown signs of genius in their studies, a fact which shocked everyone, as it had seemingly sprung out of nowhere. And Lucy...dear little Lucy was as mysterious as a unsolved riddle. No one quite knew what was going through her mind at any given time.

So her parents turned to Susan. She was the only normal one left, they said. Even if she was far more mature and grown-up than they ever could have imagined for her age.

But if that was the case, then why hadn't her parents allowed her to remain in New York while they did their tour of New Jersey? It wasn't fair. She could have joined them later. But instead she was now sitting in this silly little park in the suburbs that might as well have been countryside for all the entertainment they offered, utterly bored out of her mind. She could have been being discovered right now! She could have gone on Broadway! Been famous!

A sudden explosion of voices from behind her jerked her out of her daydreams and she twisted around in her seat to peer past the few trees. From the voices alone she could tell it was a group of boys, probably around her age, maybe a little younger, and most definitely American. No doubt they had come to play in the park, doing some inane boyish thing that would probably result in someone's injury.

She stood. She wasn't going to stick around and let them see her.

But something made her pause. She wasn't even sure what it was, only that the twanging sound that accompanied their shouts and laughter struck a cord deep within her. It was _familiar_. Comforting.

Instead she found herself moving around the bench and walking softly past the line of trees. The boys all stood in a group on the other side of the wide expanse of green grass and she soon discovered the source of the twanging noise.

One of the boys had a bow.

It was a plain bow, just some carved wood, shined and not even decorated. But it would do. The arrows were obviously manufactured. In fact, she bet the entire set was bought from a store. But that didn't mean that made it any less likely to work. A true archer would be able to work with whatever bow given.

Susan blinked and wondered how she knew all that. Since when was she interested in weapons of all things? That was something silly little boys interested themselves in, like Peter and Edmund with their fencing lessons. Not Susan.

But here she was, watching this group of teenaged American boys clumsily handle an archery set while her fingers itched and tingled, an excitement building in her chest and a thrill rushing through her veins.

What was wrong with her?

She stepped across the grass, coming up behind them. They never noticed her, too busy jeering at one of their number, who was trying to hit the crude bulls-eye they had drawn on one of the trees lining the other side of the park.

"You're holding it wrong," she heard herself say.

Seven sets of startled eyes turned to gape at her. She would be gaping too, if she were them. What had she just said? Why had she just said it?

A vague memory came to her, one of her playing pretend with her siblings. They were fighting a battle (although honestly, what kind of young girl acquiesces to play such a crude kind of make-believe in the first place?) and Susan had been the brave warrior Queen able to hit any bulls-eye.

But none of that meant she really knew how to handle a bow, so why on earth was she standing here pretending she did? (Never mind that it had felt all so real...and why would make-believe games be such prominent memories with such vivid sound and colour and _adventure_?)

"What the-" began one of the boys, probably around her age, before he cut off and clamped his mouth shut. Susan wasn't naive, she knew he had been about to swear at her.

She didn't say anything though, too embarrassed by her previous outburst. Hopefully they would just politely dismiss her and she could walk away, at least some of her dignity intact. But of course, she was underestimating a man's ego.

"What the...I mean, what would _you_ know. You're a _girl_," said the boy holding the bow.

She stared at the bow. "It's not even properly strung," she blurted out and then almost clapped a hand over her mouth, but refrained. She wasn't about to lose _all_ her dignity.

"A limey too," whispered one of the boys, but Susan caught it. Her temper sparked and her face flushed.

Susan the Gentle in her fantasies or not, but no one name-called Susan Pevensie like that to her face and got away with it! She was a sophisticated British lady, and no country-boy American was going to go around thinking otherwise.

"Give me that!" She snapped.

The boys were so surprised at her forwardness, that they didn't even move to stop her as she stepped forward and snatched the bow out of the hands of the one who had insulted her gender.

It was like she was in a trance. Her muscles knew what to do, even if her brain didn't. She removed the string and and restrung it properly, using all her considerable strength to get the wood to bend. She hadn't even known she had that kind of strength. Then she pushed past the group of shocked boys and picked up an arrow from the ground. It wasn't as well made as she could have hoped and it looked like it wouldn't fly quite straight. Never mind, she would compensate. She wasn't the best bowman - or rather, bow-woman - in Narnia for nothing. (Where? Make-believe! Just make-believe.)

She drew the bow up, her back suddenly ramrod straight. The arrow fitted between her fingers and rested against the wood of the bow lightly. Two fingers drew back the string, arrow attached.

It all happened fluidly, in one smooth motion - a move of pure practice and mastery. It wasn't only masterful, but graceful and poised.

She was Queen Susan.

Her world of make-believe was pressing at the edges of her mind. She wasn't even sure what was real anymore. Was it the stretch of her nylons and cinching of her skirt around her waist, or was it the solid weight and pressure of her chain-mail and the leather armour wrapped tightly around her chest? The swish of her dress around her ankles? Was it the crudely drawn bulls-eye carved into the tree not twenty metres away, or was it the screaming man on horseback galloping towards her, sword held ready and aiming at her neck?

Her arms strained with effort and she blinked her eyes rapidly. Which was it? Which was real? She didn't know anymore. She thought she had blocked it all out, pushed it back. But which was real? Surely they both couldn't be. It was impossible. Improbable.

The arrow released, she didn't even remember doing it. But it thudded into the centre of the bulls-eye deeply (or was it the neck of the man trying to kill her, right between the joint of his shoulder armour and helmet?).

Without thinking, she reached for her back, to the quiver of arrows that was supposed to be sitting on her shoulder, waiting to be strung and released. But there was nothing there. No comforting weight on her back, nor tight pressure of her armour. She was just Susan, standing in a small grassy clearing, shooting a mediocre bow and wearing a _blouse_.

She turned around, blinking and trying to shake away the memories. They weren't real. It was just her imagination. She'd been a very imaginative child.

But if it wasn't real, a small part of her whispered, then why did you just hit the bulls-eye? Why do you remember as much of Narnia as you do of England?

And why can't you remember the rest of your childhood? Where did that go?

"Jesus Christ!" Swore one of the boys in her face, and then he flushed as the one standing next to him hit him on the shoulder and hissed at him.

"Aslan," Susan found herself whispering. Not Jesus. Aslan. Aslan the great lion.

"Huh?"

Susan let the bow drop. "Here." She didn't elaborate. She wasn't even sure she wanted to.

Thinking of Aslan, and of Narnia, brought back make-believe (or not so make-believe) memories that she didn't think she could handle. She had been Queen. A great, beautiful Queen.

Susan the Gentle. _High_ Queen Susan the Gentle. Most beautiful in the land. Gracious and kind. Strong and yet gentle. Her enemies feared her and her people adored her.

But she wasn't. She was just ordinary not-quite-seventeen Susan Pevensie on an ordinary trip to America with her ordinary parents.

The boys crowded around her, exclaiming and even jeering. One picked up the bow, but still wasn't holding it right. He shot an arrow and Susan stared after it with glazed eyes as it fell short and landed in the grass pathetically.

"She can show us! Come on, you can show us can't you?"

Susan shook her head mutely. No, she didn't want to. She hated that these boys had messed her up so badly inside.

She had done such a good job forgetting, and now look at her! Seventeen - three years after her last (supposed) journey to Narnia and already it seemed like an age had passed. Time in Narnia had gone by so quickly, but time in England and the real world had slowed to a crawl. And she was never going back.

Not that there was anywhere to go back to anyway. Narnia wasn't real. Aslan wasn't real.

And Queen Susan the Gentle wasn't real.

Susan brushed past the calling boys, steps quickening as she tried to reach the trees, as if she could abandon her memories behind her in that clearing with that single bow and the arrow that no one would be able to pull from its deep seat in the tree. She pushed past the line of trees and spotted the bench.

Chest heaving now, she collapsed onto the bench, put her head in her hands, and began to cry.

* * *

**AN: **I bet you never thought I'd update, huh? To be honest, this has been sitting on my hard-drive not-quite-finished for _months_ and I just couldn't find the inspiration to finish it. That's not to say I've lost my passion for writing. Quite the contrary. Just these past two weeks, I've managed to write about 30k words of a brand new original story. And for anyone who reads my Harry Potter fanfiction, I'm still updating somewhat consistently there.

No, it's just Narnia. Some of this has to do with the fact that here at Uni I have no access to any Narnia stuff (books or movies...or my spiffy sword), which puts quite a damper on things. Especially when I want to look up information.

Anyway, I haven't abandoned this. Just know that time between drabbles will be long between. Though, I do find that the reviews you have all left me have been very touching and have kept me thinking about this fic, despite everything. All your lovely comments, helpful hints, words of constructive criticism, and of course, requests and ideas for future drabbles, always made my day. I read every single one of them, and perhaps even found the time to reply to a few of them.

So, finally, after months (and after a very hectic semester in which I have had to sort my out my year abroad plans for Japan and France with much confusion and chaos) I give you Susan's second chapter. Unfortunately, Susan has already begun to repress the memories she finds are too painful to remember. I can only hope I've lived up to your expectations of how you imagined Susan becoming when she was older.

And, of course, I finally managed to fit in the much-demanded/anticipated archery scene. Because, come on, Susan wouldn't be Susan without her archery skills. :]

Please do tell me what you think of this chapter, and leave any additional comments as well. I've compiled a list of requests and helpful ideas at the moment which I am still debating over, but feel free to add to it. The more ideas I have to potentially write about, the faster the inspiration might strike.

Well, that's it for now. And...truely sorry for the wait. I hope it was worth it!

xoxRia


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